


His Shattered Grace

by RibbitRabbit



Series: Shattered Grace [2]
Category: Glass Sword- Victoria Aveyard, Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Book 2: Glass Sword, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, References to Depression, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 86,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RibbitRabbit/pseuds/RibbitRabbit
Summary: Alyn Velx watched Elara Merandus and Maven Calore seize power. With all hope shattered he is still not willing to let go of the prince he once loved and the king he grows to despise.Guilt is a heavy burden.(First eight chapters under revision, plot changes and details incoming)





	1. On the edge

There was uncertainty in the waiting.

Restless hopelessness and crushed dreams.

Right at this moment, Alyn couldn't speak, and he couldn't move. He just stood on the edge of the balcony, staring down into the abyss of chaos and darkness.

There was irony in him, the endless watcher, waiting all alone in a room that wasn't his, for the return of a person that was ordering death and destruction.

The endless watcher had no more tears for the absurdity of all the destruction this world had in store.

There's always death, the demons in Alyn Velx mind whispered, the doubtful voices that inhabited the burning cinder and ashes that were his heart. And you decided to stay in the epicenter of it.

Not that he had much of an alternative. Where would he go? What would he do? He couldn't even leave the room, paralyzed by the noise a hundred minds screamed at him. In pain, in anguish, they were everywhere, and Alyn Velx had stopped trying to blend them out. They howled in his heart. Little flecks of tenderness and kindness were sprinkled between the bitter cold, and he sucked them out dry, bathing in whatever kindness he could.

Human feelings were like acid, etching scars in his soul.

If his power had been more useful, maybe he would have been able to help.

If it had not bothered him like a whisper any other silver that could manipulate a mind.

Instead, he was bound to feel their weight every day in his life, and not even sleep held them at bay.

A vessel, a tool, a torturer, a healer. Alyn Velx had been called many, many things in his not so long life.

He remembered his hands on Maven's crown, taking the cold shimmering metal down. He remembered the look of blue eyes freckled with silver. The hard grip on his wrists.

He would never forget why he had decided to stay.

Somewhere deep inside, there had to be something of the boy Alyn Velx had loved.

With the loudest of stomps, the door was smashed into the lock. As Alyn turned around, he saw Maven, sharp face pale. Anger flared through him, and it hit Alyn Velx like someone had slapped him.

Maven didn't seem to notice Alyn at all. With a curse on his lips, a whispered word, he swiped the desk free, loud crushing sounds of breaking glass, clunking metal and shifting papers.

Inside and outside was destruction.

The rotten cracks of Maven Calore were in a tumult, and the anger was hot and steaming, unforgiving.

Maven didn't stop, smashing a vase against the wall, Alyn made a step forward. Porcelain splintered, and water dripped down the painted tapestry.

A pair of white and blue flowers scattered around.

"Your majesty." Alyn forced his mouth to work.

Maven's foot stepped on one of the flowers, crushing its delicate petals under his boot as he turned to look at Alyn.

"I didn't know you were still here." Maven frowned upon him. In comparison to the tired and bloodshot-eyed Alyn he was almost too good-looking,not one hair out of place dressed all in black.

" I was waiting for you," Alyn said.

 _Me?_ Maven's blue eyes stared at him, waiting. Alyn knew he had never felt like people were waiting for him, and it had only contributed to the bitterness that had turned into this full-fledged rotten thing he had become. A patchwork of all the worst. ‚You should stop doing that.'

_Pushing, ripping, fear and anger, deep-rooted loathing._

Alyn shook his head. His brittle bones seemed to burst under the pressure but he kept his body straight.

A kicked puppy, his friend Vael had joked.

Now Vael was probably already dead on the ground or somewhere caught in the open field, facing the enemy, or mourning the death of his sister. Something Alyn Velx knew too well.

" I take it your attempt to capture your brother and Mare Barrow did not go so well."

Mare Barrow. Lightning girl.

Alyn had watched over her in the palace before hell broke loose. Elara had found it fitting to use his talents as she pleased. But he had never even touched her mind, not tried to heal or change. He had only wanted to lift her burden when she had been just the wrong Titanos for him. She had been everything for Alyn. He had admired her spirit, had watched her closely. He was still stinging and jealous of the part that Maven longed for, but that was not her fault. And he was equally sad as he was bitter. Despite the fact she had never recognized his existence, he feared for since the day she had been imprisoned.

She had been everything he had wished his sister to be.

And now his sister was dead and Mare Barrow was on the run.

He remembered her the last time he had seen her, in the arena, bloody and ragged, but she had made it, and wherever she was, he wished her nothing but to be stronger than he could ever be.

The anger boiled in Maven's mind again, and also frustration. Never show weakness. Don't fail.

"You made your opinion very clear the day I arrested them."

Alyn remembered his pleading, his kneeling, his begging. He remembered his tears. He cried so often he shouldn't be able to remember them, but he did and it never got easier.

He remembered his horror about the thought of killing your own kin. He had tried to cling to Maven's mind, touch his compassion, making him soft, but the newly crowned king had been ice and stone, anger and hate, and his wrath had rendered Alyn Velx attempt to bargain useless.

"And you made it very clear you would not change your mind." Alyn folded his shaking hands. "And I choose to accept that."

"Yes, you did. And I can't deny you are full of wonders."

Something about that made Alyns heart leap.

"Most people wouldn't have tried to persuade me. And they would accept something I say because I am king. But that's not the reason you accepted, is it?"

"I told you. I want to be your friend." Always one step behind you, your grace, Alyn had whispered on the stairs of a prison. He stood to his word. "If you are in need of me."

"We both know you can feel it, Alyn Velx. " Maven came closer, hesitated, and decided to take the risk.

Yes, Alyn thought, a risk. It was always a risk for you. Being with me never helped you. It only made you what you are.

It hurt, the thought, the memory, of a younger prince and a younger self, on the windowsill, or quietly sitting together. It hurt Alyn so deeply he pressed his lips together.

The pain was his constant companion. He should not have been surprised to feel it again. Not with Maven so close and all his little strength left pressed against the never satisfied cracks that were Maven's soul.

_Show kindness, Alyn. Heal, not destroy._

Words his uncle had said, things he had taught him, but not enough, there had been so little time.

" I am not a mind reader. I just know you are very angry."

"I don't feel angry anymore." The king was so close his loyal friend and servant, Alyn Velx, felt their arms brush as he stepped past him on the balcony. "Curious."

"Get your guards to arrest me," Alyn said. "Or tell your mother if you find me inappropriate, your grace."

Maven's mind bristled under his touch, like a stray wild dog, ready to bite. Alyn was used to it by now. He didn't stop reaching out, mending the anger, calming him down.

"My mother and I, " Maven sounded thoughtful. "Don't share an opinion when it comes to you."

Well, that was clear. Alyn smiled miserably.

Know your place, little monster, he could almost feel her whisper in his head.

It was taking him all he had to stay calm and still. His hands were shaking. It was draining, being part of a person, and after all those years, Maven's mind only had become more slippery, almost like his mother's.

"I should lie now and say how sorry I am to hear that, but it is no secret we don't see eye to eye." Not after she had bought him from his father, imprisoned and used him. He still was no better than a chair for her. Less now, that she couldn't sit on his back anymore. She would still be able to fling him around like a puppet if deemed necessary. But she was not the one he bowed to.

"I don't think you could ever lie, Alyn Velx."

_I always hoped the same for you, look where it got us._

"Lies are a dangerous thing," Alyn whispered, leaning on the cold stone and metal. "You are tempted to believe them yourself, the longer they last."

Maven shifted beside him, as they stood close to each other on the edge.

It was all and nothing for Alyn Velx, as glorious as disappointing to feel the waves of Maven's bitter resentment clash against him. In some ways, they resembled each other, Alyn thought.

He was just as bitter and dark, just as withered away, hiding deep in himself. The reasons though were very different.

Tangled in a hunters trap, a net woven around a boy that wanted nothing but help. All that was good had been ripped off, burned in the ever consuming fire that was the greed.

A part of him hated Elara Merandus and her son so much, it felt like the only thing holding him breathing.

But then he looked at Maven and the hate was gone, replaced by something so gentle and frail he was just a little boy again, looking at his only friend.

His bright prince, a prayer that had helped him through years of inflicting pain and being locked in.

His shattered grace ties that bound him.

 _If I am Elaras monster,_ he thought, closing his eyes. _You are mine, Maven Calore._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Choose from reddit I got a gorgeous fanart. I love you.


	2. The nature of a dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first chapter was more like half the intended, and I wasn't pleased with how it turned out, so have a more detailed continuation of the balcony scene and some more before we progress further into the plot of Glass Sword, which will make poor Alyn a little less passive.

It was a long night. And despite knowing the morning wouldn't change a thing, it was welcomed with open arms. The sun that rose from grey and black clouds painted the sky in pools of red. Alyn found that almost fitting, as he sat on the balcony, shivering but wide awake. He tugged the blanket Maven had given him tighter around him, sitting as still as he could. Crimson held him warm. It was fitting like the sky. People had passed the room, cleaning the shattered porcelain, but by now, Alyn was good to become unrecognizable. He gave servants and guards alike the feeling he wasn't more than a chair, barely alive and very harmless. It worked well. He only knew one person who never forgot he existed. And she was hallways away, doing what snakes used to do in the warmth of their lair.

Next door, Maven was fast asleep, and when Alyn concentrated on it, he felt the sleek surface of a deep and calm mind. No worries, no dreams, bizarre like marble reflecting light, slippery, hard, but untouched. The boy had nightmares, Alyn remembered. The king didn't even dream.

It had been a hunt. Alyn Velx had never been present at one of those old traditions his father had praised, he had seen the broidered images on tapestry and paintings. He imagined the strained breath of the animal. And he knew it was not an animal breathing hard and feeling trapped while on the run. And it was that thought, overall, that made him sick. He imagined nameless faces, red and bloody. Silver and burnt. They were a fluid mix, and the faces, although nameless, haunted him. They became the faces of the first red man he had tortured, filling him with love, the face of a silver woman screaming, asking for her son.

He didn't know all the details. But the increased activity of guards and soldiers, and the way everyone seemed so frail in their fake optimism, in their hushed praise and carefully placed steps, dancing around the new king and then his mother. Oh, it said enough.

He had seen the jets, and though Naercy was too far away to see the fire and the missiles, he imagined it all too well. There was the rolling thunder, not unlike the lightning storm Mare Barrow had unleashed. And the smoke. The smoke was the worst. It left things to imagine how many people had been hurt or died.

Mavens barely contained anger spoke even bigger volumes.

**I take it your attempt to capture your brother and Mare Barrow did not go so well.**

Alyn could have asked if the sky was blue or water wet.

The anger cooled down into something else as Alyn retreated to the doorstep of his mind. It had become his routine again, somehow, so easy, so intuitive. He just had to reach out, and Maven clung to him like a little child would cling to the skirt of his mother, or a drowning man clung to the saving hand. It was like he had never been gone. And yet everything had changed. He knew of the demons in Maven's head. He had watched them growl and shift these past weeks, he had told himself to stay away first. Because of utter disappointment. And of all the blame. But the blame was still his as was his responsibility. And his love and so he would break before bending, feeding all that was good and easy to the abyss that was Maven Calore's loathing for himself and the loathing, it was groundbreaking, bitter.

For a while, they had just stood on the balcony.

Alyn's fluttering heart and his aching bones had tried to make sense of it all. Through his closed eyes, the feelings were a deep ocean of different voices, screaming, singing, gripping. They'd tried to take him, but he took a deep breath, and slowly, so very slowly, they grew more silent, until they were only a steady static noise in the back of his own head.

_I am in control_. He told himself.

When he opened his eyes, he found Maven staring absently into the darkness. Alyns eyes took their time to trail along his face, pale in the dim light that broke through the window behind them. Lighting Maven's pale face, the shadows painted sharp lines along his jawline and cheeks, eyes staring into nothingness very dark.

He noticed Alyns staring, and once more, Alyn wondered what he saw.

"I know what you think of me after the last days." Maven said."You think I am a monster. I can see it."

You always were observant, Alyn thought, looking down on the railing. I always wished to be as smart and observant as you, maneuvering around, knowing rules and bending them to my will.

His hands were gripping hard, knuckles white muscles tense.

Maven waited for an answer. And Alyn took his time. When he finally spoke his voice was very low.

"Can I tell you a story?" He asked, lips frowning, remembering Julians face What's a story if it stays untold?

"I don't see why not." Maven answered, radiating a mixture of mild curiosity and keen observance, sharp eyes watching every of Alyn's moves.

"We had dogs when I was little. " Alyn cleared his throat. "One was brown, with a white spot on his nose. I won't ever forget that one. "

"You never told me about them." Maven said, and Alyn shook his head.

"I was very small. It's like a bad dream. My father wasn't much of an animal person. He kept them on chains. I remember their howling at night. I could hear it in my chamber. They growled and barked all the time. And their restless anger. They didn't want to be chained up. They wanted to run and sniff. They wanted to play. But the longer they were in that kennel, the more they got angry. My sister was so scared at one point she cried and didn't want to go out in the yard because you could hear the poor creatures circling and growling. My uncle had started teaching me. I thought I knew how to helps them. I wanted to calm them. And so I went to the kennels. The dogs barked at me so loud I was tempted to run away. But the brown one was just looking at me. He stared straight at me. He was so calm."

Licking his dry lips, he stopped for a second, remembering the stench of the dogs, the dirt, and the clinking sound of the chains, the dogs throwing themselves against them. The raw strength and anger they had produced. Froth on wide open muzzles, big yellow teeth. Paws in the air as they tugged on their leashes.

"I concentrated all my will on him. His white nose sniffed me out. I thought I had him under my spell. He seemed calm and patient. Then I stretched out my arm to pat him. And he made that sound. I had never heard anything like it." Rolling up his sleeve, he laid his arms bare. A pattern of scars was shimmering silver in the light. " Something in him snapped, and through the calm, he was the angriest thing ever. His teeth were very, very sharp. It was the first time I remember feeling pain."

"Your uncle must have been angry at you." Maven said, his eyes trailing over the scar.

"He was. But that wasn't the worst. My father didn't care they had hurt me, that was their purpose, after all, to attack, but my sister was crying terribly, and uncle Theron convinced him to get rid of the dogs. He shot the brown one, I watched him do it. "

" I remember you a little, as a kid." Maven sounded very sober, leaning closer, Alyn could smell him. He smelled of fire, burnt earth. Alyn still stared at the scar on his forearm, seeing the snout, white spot on top, closing around a small arm, a weight pushing him down on the ground. "You felt obligated to hold the weight of the world."

His father had refused to let him go out after the incident, and he kept the door to Alyn's room locked tight until the day he dragged his seven-year-old self in the palace to soothe a mind plagued and whirling.

"It was my fault the dogs got shot. " Alyn whispered. " In the end...My father had locked them up. But I had tried to unleash them without trying to understand their nature. I was foolish. I never learned from it. I still try to calm the dog without trying to understand his nature."

"I am aware," Maven sounded thoughtful. " I am the dog in this metaphor, "He touched Alyn's arm, slender fingers on silver kissed skin, right where the fangs of the dog had left their marks."But I wouldn't bite you. I can promise."

"That remains to be seen, your grace. "Alyn's voice sounded hoarse when he looked up. He thought of the boundless anger and of the war that was waging everywhere.

"The dog didn't understand what you meant to do. But I am no dog. We are where we're supposed to be. And you know that."

No, Alyn wanted to say. I can't, I want to, but all I feel is destruction.

He felt the brimming righteous energy in Maven's words. But righteous didn't mean justice. He was honest as one could be when he knew how to evade someone who read feelings.

" You decided to stay on your own, Alyn. You decided to wait. I told you to stop. But you did not. What does that tell you about decisions?"

" But even when decisions are hard, does that justify bloodshed?"

"You never needed to make a decision based on anything other than yourself. Did you?" Flecks of ash shimmered in his dark hair as he took off his crown, red molten flames in dim light and darkest night. He twirled it in his hands carefully. "You make it easy. You blame and you weep. You don't see what's necessary."

Alyn swallowed hard. He had always given the blame to other people, Maven's word held true.

He blamed the queen, he blamed his father, he blamed the world. He blamed Maven.

His words were creeping under his skin, as much as Alyn Velx could deny, he couldn't stop the hammering guilt in his heart.

But beneath it all, it's the knowledge that Maven tried to convince him, of necessity, where there is nothing left but a deep void of lies, that hurt Alyn.

_Convince yourself, not me, my bright prince._

"This world doesn't care if you cry for it." Maven said, hands gripping his crown tightly. Determined. Bitter. "You survive or you don't. And everyone will move on. What do you think happens when you go, Alyn Velx?"

"I hope you'd notice." Alyn let out a stifled small laugh, a breath of air in the darkness, a small puff of fog.

" But that would not change a thing." Despite Alyn's knowledge of the toxic wasteland that stretched before him, he was walking willingly, reaching out to feel the familiar sharp edges of injustice and the brimming energy. He held tight, this time, he was the one that couldn't let go, and it was hard to keep his back straight. Maven noticed his efforts just too well. "Never show weakness."

Alyn pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"You told me that before. But I don't think I can be like that."

"And yet you are still here."

Alyn pondered what to answer.

_Because I can't leave. I promised, didn't I?_

_Because there is still that part that loves you. It's the part that keeps me lurking around._

_You're all I have left._

"You remind me of home. I miss home. "

The crown had found its place on Maven's head again. He seemed bigger than before, steadier. Alyn looked into his face, half eaten by the king's mind, swallowing him whole, and half anchored in place by his eyes. Then he bowed his head.

"I think we could talk the whole night about the nature of dogs and decisions that seem to be necessary," Alyn muttered.

"We could. " Maven agreed. "But we won't."

There was nothing Alyn Velx could have told the king that he wasn't already aware of. Or heard somewhere else. "Is that an order, my king?"

"Merely a suggestion. " Maven huffed at him, and Alyn smiled a little. " I am tired, and you are standing on my balcony."

"If you'll allow, I'll stay."

Alyn didn't wait for the king to answer, sinking on the cold ground, folding himself tightly together, arms holding his legs.

"It's cold. You don't even wear a coat."

"Sharpens my mind."

"Reading a book instead of people could do the same, Lord Velx."

"I am honored by your worries. But didn't you just say you were tired?"

Maven disappeared into the destroyed room, with smashed porcelain still decorating the ground. When he returned, Alyn got in possession of the crimson blanket that was still tugged around him.

It was a small thing, the tiniest sentiment, but it was kind. It was everything Alyn could have asked for and never would have.

* * *

When he returned to his chamber he noticed his coat. It was lying in the bed, scrambled like he had left it. Except that the sleeves were hanging down. Alyn blinked. He knew he had seen the sleeves half hidden and folded when he left. It was one of the small things he did, because either way he still appeared all crinkled and crumpled, almost tattered in his too big and not so fancy clothes. But the coat thing, that had stuck in prison. Every night in his cell he had tried to tell how long he was already in hell, and then he folded his coat and prayed to any spirit willing to listen.

Julian's letter, Alyn thought, and his hands were clutching and gripping, searching in panic.

He was no fool.

As he searched his pockets he knew that whoever had looked, had taken it.

They had searched the whole small chamber, and he was half sure to find the blinking black lens of a camera somewhere. Of course, he did not find anything, but that didn't mean no one had prepared such a thing.

He had found nothing regarding the circumstances of Julian Jacos disappearance. He had convinced himself Julian was safe and just cautious, which was hard after all the bloodshed and destruction that had followed the Kings' death.

His boot kicked the wooden and metal bed frame hard in anger and frustration.

The letter was the last thing Vael Gliacon and Julian Jacos had left Alyn. He had carried it in his pocket as a talisman, a charm to protect himself. The evil was inside his own head. But when his fingers touched the letter, his thoughts drifted to gentle Julian resembling his uncle in the sunshine, a book in his hand, and Vael Gliacon nudging his shoulder, smiling. And that told him there was something worth to keep the fight alive, something worth he had to protect, something he would show himself and Maven. To prove once and for all that despite the evil there always had to be light.

Alyn sat down next to his coat and cursed himself.

He should have hidden it or kept it closer. Now the paper was gone and he had little to no hope to ever see it again. It was sure as hell already in Elaras hands. The witch wasn't too happy how Maven was treating him. And she knew too well he perfectly understood what they had done. Alyn's mind twitched and he felt angrier than he had ever been able was red boiling water hot, desperation, cutting deep.

She had to take everything. She never let go. She had taken his life, his family, his freedom, it was never enough.

"Lord Velx?" a thin voice asked. Alyn blinked, head whipping up.

The girl couldn't be older than himself, and her eyes flinched away under his glare.

_Finally, someone has the sense to be scared of me._

He could have invaded her frail mindset with ease, crushing her little-left confidence, pulverizing it under his anger.

When he caught himself thinking about that, it almost immediately vanished, turning into shock.

"I am sorry to invade your privacy."

No worries, he thought, there was none left.

"I was asked to deliver this."

The box was shining in the light, painted in blue and green, simple, but somehow pretty.

"Who gave you this?" Alyn asked, taking it from her hands.

"I-uh" she shuffled her feet."I was asked not to talk about it, Lord Velx."

It was heavy for such a small thing, and when he turned it in his hands, he heard the tiniest of clinking sounds.

"It must have been important. Why did they ask you?"

"I am just doing my job." She blushed crimson under his stare, uncomfortable and he could feel her restless energy. She wanted nothing more than to leave. He made her very uneasy. And maybe her red blood feared to spill after all the violence if she made just the tiniest mistake.

It would have been easy to bury inside her, to make her stay and talk.

She almost ran away when he just nodded.

His fingers fiddled with the case of the box until he could open it, pulling at the metal

I miss my home, Alyn had said. He remembered the words just too well, how he had regretted even saying them.

The pictures showed the house he had grown up.

The ivy was just as green and raking along the windows as he remembered. There was a horse in the barn to the right. And despite it being stupid, Alyn laughed and cried at the same time when his fingers brushed over the image. It was just a horse.

The last picture was showing the face of a girl. She was silver, pale, with a strong jawline, brown hair reaching along her shoulders, and her lips were curled almost challenging. She had eyes so green the ivy paled in comparison, flecked with soft brown spots. Alyn's heart started to ache. If he had looked in the mirror, the same eyes would have looked back.

Zella Velx, someone had written on the back. 14 years.

The box almost fell down his lap as Alyn shifted, the picture of his dead sister in his hand. He held it as tight as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another beautiful fanart D: Zella looks fierce.


	3. The tattered lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhh, what can I say. I am sorry.

"Are you looking for someone, in particular, Lord Velx?" Maven's voice was a mock, and Alyn flinched at the sudden sound, eyes wandering back to the king at his side. All crimson and black, his blue eyes shone brightly. His choice of colors was nothing if not a reflection of his inside, crimson anger, and black putrid hatred. It reminded Alyn of their chess games. I won't let you take this, Maven's hand had said every time he moved a piece, I will show you once and for all. It had taken some games for him to win against Alyn, but that was only because winning against someone able to read your emotions wasn't very fair.

With every game lost, the frustration had risen more and more, until it was crimson anger. But he wouldn't have let Alyn gift him the win.

He wanted the satisfaction of a crushing win. A triumph.

_He always wanted everything. And who can blame a child feeling overshadowed for that? But the king is not a child and people are not chess pieces, no matter how good he is at moving them over the board._

Alyn folded his hands behind his back. It held almost strategic use. It made his back straight, his hands didn't fiddle on their sleeves. A thousand eyes watching his every move, there was truth to what Maven was trying to print on his skin. Never show weakness.

"I wondered why Evangeline Samos is not accompanying you, your grace."

"I'll let you in on a secret." The king leaned in closer. Their arms brushed as they walked along. Alyn was noticing the glares all too well. "Outside of public affairs, I choose to assemble different company. But if you miss her so dearly, I am not holding you down."

What he really meant was more than clear. He couldn't rely on them, they would jump any weakness. He was grasping every support he could. Alyn Velx month at the court, following Elara Merandus had taught him enough about politics to recognize slippery ice when he stepped on it. This construct he and his mother had built were weak. The game was on as always.

" I have to decline, with utmost disappointment. "

"As you should. I didn't summon you to lurk around a fair lady of my court."

And not any fair lady, Alyn thought, but the metal clad future queen, a proficient fighter in your war.

"Why exactly did you summon me?"

Heads bowing right and left, saluting. There was the pity for the poor tragic king, and Alyn felt a bitter taste in his throat. Maven took his time to answer, all smiles and charm until they were alone again. There was still guards and sentinels scattered in the respectful distance. Maven's voice was low.

" People have noticed your waiting, Lord Velx."

Hard to ignore, Alyn frowned, not out in the open.

"My mother suggested you take a mask again." Elara would have been rather glad to see him in a mask again, probably on her heels instead of Maven. "But frankly put, it is too late to hide anymore. This morning I heard someone giving you a rather peculiar name. The tattered lord."

Tattered lord, Alyn's mouth tasted the name silent. It was fitted for him, for his crumpled clothes, his bloodshot, grey circled eyes, a scarecrow in green coats and jackets too big.

"And what will I have to do instead of disguising myself, your majesty?"

"You'll be at my side, of course, and you'll keep your eyes out and that mind open."

Sniffing after weak points and scheming enemies again. It was what he had done for Elara and he was to do it for her son again. Being exposed in the open was as dangerous as it was clever.

If he had been hiding, he could have worked better, but it would have raised suspicions and talk like it already did now. In this open position, the tattered lord was nothing more than Maven's newest pet, a dirty sycophant. If Alyn was careful enough, no one would know what he could do. He had never been trained, and thanks to his father and Elara locking him up, no one knew his face.

A secret was only a secret if people kept talking. If the tattered lord showed them he was all bark and no bite, they wouldn't be bothering about him as much. Or, Alyn didn't like that alternative very much, they would take him as a weak link and sink their teeth into him.

"See yourself as my protégé from now on, Lord Velx." Maven was genuinely amused by the thought, and Alyn wished he could have laughed.

"People will suspect the worst scandal, your majesty."

" Only if you keep being dressed like that."

With all the easy jokes and amusement, Alyn could have overlooked the tension that was sitting on his chest as much as the itching that was building up his spine, clutching to Maven's mind.

" How did you like the present?"

Alyns folded hands twitched, and he gripped his hands even harder. "I am most grateful, your Majesty."

A smile curled along Maven's lips, very satisfied with himself. "A promise not to bite."

Alyn wondered where they were heading to. Maven seemed to read the thought of his face.

"Since there is still the matter of traitors on the run, " the hard edge around Maven's eyes betrayed the gentle smile he gave Alyn. " I have to find a way to locate and smother the resistance once and for all."

"I am afraid I won't be of help with that." Alyn bristled under the firm disgust that his denial triggered. But he stood by his decision. Even if he had any clue where Maven's brother and Mare Barrow we're hiding, he would not have told.

"It's an obstacle I will need to overcome myself, it seems." All stride and straight back, the king doubled his steps. Alyn almost was running to keep up.

The looks he earned as he kept chasing the kings tail told him as much as their feelings.

That boy, they wondered, where did he come from? And why is the king taking him along?

There was amused cold, jealous energy. Alyn tried to touch them as careful as possible, making himself harmless in their eyes. He was a temporary amusement for the king, no reason to worry.

When Maven shoved the door open in his best majestic display, head high, crown glimmering in the light, the first thing Alyn noticed was his mother. Seated in a chair next to a big ebony table, she was wearing as much black and crimson as her son. She still wore a veil, black and blue, pushed back over her ashen hair like a headdress.

Her lips pursed as she saw Alyn. _Look what the cat dragged in._

"The tattered lord graces us with his presence." The way she said it, it sounded like the worst insult.

Alyn bowed in the deepest mock he could muster. "We can't be all radiating like your royal highness, despite the loss you just had to endure."

He was surprised by his insolence.

"A terrible tragedy for sure." Elara wasn't taking the bait. The ice walls surrounding her mind were as high as ever. When he turned around he saw another silver. He didn't know the man, but by the look of his uniform, he was most likely a military figure, lower than Samos, a henchman. He had greeted the king as Elara and Alyn had greeted each other. Behind him, one of Elaras sentinels had taken a post.

It turned out to be a long day, hours of planning, talking. Alyn didn't understand half of it. It was still interesting to watch Maven and his mother, their synergy. They had a well-probed system and their communication just proved to Alyn what he had suspected for a long time.

Whatever the plan had been. Wherever things had worked or not. In the end, they were in this together.

People joined or left the war room, as Alyn dubbed the table and chairs, the papers and stacked information. He didn't know all the names and faces, but he tried to connect as many dots as possible.

In a stupid and rebellious attempt Alyn denied to sit anywhere near Elara, and so he had settled to leaning on the wall, making himself as unnoticeable and harmless as possible.

By now it didn't even take much of his powers to hold that lie up front.

The way Maven stood high, asking and commanding, keeping up the charade of a very grief-stricken but strong king finding his way still left a taste in his mouth that made his teeth hurt. He was very concentrated, and it reminded Alyn if the times they had sat together in silence, the prince reading, the lord watching.

But despite all the meticulous planning and precise words, on the inside Alyn was aware that Maven's patience was running thin. He couldn't blame him. The last days were, overall the violence Alyn could not agree on, straining.

The last in a long row, another man stood at the table with Maven. Elara had not left her place at the table, and her hands held a piece of paper.

That reminded Alyn only if his lost letter, but he swallowed it.

"Samos sent the scouts back," Elara said, unfazed by Alyn's existence. "The reports are unnoticeable. No trace of the lightning girl, Tiberias or their scarlet friends."

"I read the reports." Snapping impatience. Maven leaned on the table. Alyn watched his pale hands, spreading over the dark engraved wood. A map was edged in the wood, most intricate and detailed. "But no one vanishes completely."

"We are turning every stone, your majesty." The silver assured him.

"That's obviously not true. I want them to be found, General."

The general frowned at the tone the king was using but hid it well behind his weathered face.

Despite your doing, my king, the army does not favor you, Alyn thought. He remembered Vael, the fond and defending voice he had used when he spoke of Tiberias Calore.

Not your brother, Alyn could feel Maven didn't like that thought in the slightest.

He had led them to a defeat, with losses too big. The anger and anxiety exploded in Alyn and he was sure something very, very bad would happen.

"Under every circumstance." Maven made clear he meant what he said.

Alyns eyes wandered to Elara, and surprisingly enough she was just as alarmed as he was, though barely noticeable. There was a crack in her ice, a small one, filled with anger.

"With all due respect," the man said, but there was no respect in his voice at all. "I have been in the war when you were just a boy, so your majesty, when I want you to consider to not waste resources-"

That one step in Maven's direction was too much. Alyn Velx mind grabbed the man like he had just stepped into a bear trap, and crushed him.

Alyn was becoming too good at this, and he had to thank Elara MErandus for it. She had shaped his path when she had made him a torturer.

The poor man didn't get to finish the sentence.

Elara Merandus watched one hand in front of her face. "The king will consider your request, General."

What she really meant was lying lurking in her tone.

The king will consider not to punish that insolence.

The man retreated, bowing deep one last time, ashen pale.

" Please calm down, your grace," Alyn whispered. He regretted his doing as soon as he had finished it.

On the outside, Maven's face was contained and cool. On the inside, he was anything but. All people present knew that.

With a swoosh, papers sailed down. It was a repetition of the night in Maven's room, Alyn feared.

Alyn tugged at their connection, pressing through the cracks, but the hot boiling anger was worse than it had been before.

"If you lose your head now," Elara said, getting up slowly. "Everyone will notice." Her voice was as cold as her mind.

Maven snapped away from her approach, mouth twitching. Alyn was reminded of the dogs in the kennel once more. Hands closed to fists tightly, his shoulder nudged Alyn as he paced, like a caged animal.

"Maven." Elaras voice said, as if her son was a child, smearing a painting on a wall. "We will find them. Stop. That. We worked for this moment. Now act like it."

Maven's fist hit the wall so hard the bones made a crushing sound.

Blood dripped down the knuckles, mercury on the dark tapestry and white skin. Alyn blinked in shock at the sudden violent turn and the whirlwind of anger flaring through the connection he maintained to the king.

Elara and Alyn jumped both the same, but Alyn was faster than her.

"Show me your hand," he whispered, well aware of the pain that followed the blood.

"Leave us," Elara ordered. Alyn pursed his lips at her.

She pointed at her sentinel. "Take Lord Velx to his chambers."

Alyn felt like the greatest predator, roaring in bloodlust ready to protect his cubs, as he gritted his teeth at the Sentinel, his arm closing around Maven's shoulder.

"I don't think so." He hissed at her, more vicious than ever, channeling all his hatred for the woman who had taken his life in this hell. The sentinel stopped dead in her tracks as she was hit with the most vicious anger and fear Alyn could muster.

"Take. Him. Away." Elara repeated. Her voice quivered just the slightest bit. No one denied her. She didn't like this in the slightest.

The Sentinel made a step backward, almost fleeing in fear and anguish. That was when Alyn felt another familiar presence. The queen had joined the fight.

The way she worked was just as harsh as his and they wrestled over the poor sentinel.

It wouldn't take much to break her now.

Alyn let go and the woman stumbled forward.

"He has to stay. " Maven suddenly said. Alyn was still holding him tightly, feeling his brow brushing hair.

'Your infatuation with that boy is getting ridiculous,' Elara said. "It would be better to remember what he is and what he does before it's too late."

Greedy, so greedy they both were nothing but.

Corrupting each other, Alyn thought, aren't we?

The tattered lord had beaten the blue queen. For now.

As Maven's bloody hand gripped Alyn tight, it didn't feel victorious.

 


	4. Promises and bargains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what you should NEVER do? Read a book and cowrite your fics. You'll make the clumsiest mistakes. Like...not knowing the outcome of something. Now I try to tweak my mistakes a bit.

After the tantrum, and the matter of his hand getting healed until there was not more trace of the outrage, Alyn thought the king would retreat, like he had as a boy. Forming a shell and bury himself in a book. He did not expect for him to get back on his feet. He had underestimated Maven deeply.

“How do you do it?”

There was the slightest trace of dried silver blood on Maven’s knuckle as he flexed his slender fingers.

“Pardon me, your grace?”

“The patience, Alyn Velx. Where does it come from?”

“Waiting is my second nature.” Alyn had said without thinking and he could feel Elara' s amusement. “It’s like a skin I wear. I am best at being calm and look for my opportunity while others stride forward. Sometimes exploring is worth the wait.”

“One could say waiting is an art the way our tattered lord talks.” The queen smiled thin.” He is not wrong though.”

It irked Alyn deeply she was agreeing with him only minutes after their fight over a human mind.

 “Worth the wait.” Maven had repeated silent. Alyn felt the rapture as an idea formed in his mind, sharp and wicked smart , edges cutting deep through the still not completely calm demeanor. “Waiting does seem like a fruitless effort with people hidden. But sometimes that’s all we have to do.”

Alyn felt like someone had thrown him down a building only to recognize the ground feathered him back up, like a trampoline. 

“Your majesty?” Alyn's heart fluttered at the sight of the gleaming smile on Maven’s face. It was a fever , living along the brimming mind of the king.

“Why let the scouts search,” he had said. “When there is a better opportunity to seize?” The moment of weakness was gone as he distanced himself from Alyn, going back to something that looked at this distance, like a list. His mother seemed rather satisfied he had snapped out of it.

Alyn had sunk on a chair as far away as he could, trying to fathom what had happened.

* * *

 

Alyn remembered the day the prince noticed his wonder for lightning strikes. In retrospect Alyn could see the irony in him , watching the galvanic symphony from the safety of the window.

Always watching, never acting.

The rainstorm had been heavy. Water pounded against the glass, and the sky was so dark, it seemed the sun had been swallowed whole. Twirling darkness, freckled with grey heavy clouds.

When the first thunder roared , like a wounded lion, Alyn Velx had been sitting on his usual spot on the windowsill in the room.

Maven was quiet, on his table, still upset about something that seemed to connect with a bruise well hidden under a sleeve. Alyn had learned not to ask questions. If the prince wanted to talk, he did. He wouldn’t pressure a friend. 

Alyn remembered his bruises just the same, every time his father dragged him out or inside his chamber. He dared to nudge the upset bubble of Maven’s feelings with determination before he returned to watch and wait, raindrops hammering a staccato against the window.

The first lightning bolt struck , illuminating everything in bright white light. And Alyn had let out the tiniest of sounds, an excited 'ahh'. 

“It’s just a storm.” Maven said, leaning his head on his hand, seemingly unfazed. 

“Shh.” Alyn made. 

“ Using an interjection on a  member of the royal family has seven different punishments.” 

“Why seven?” Alyn asked, confused, turning away from the spectacle.

Maven smiled a little through his fingers. “Depends on the noise you make.” 

Alyn blinked. Then he laughed. “That’s so silly it can’t be true!”

“Maybe it’s not.” 

“Lying is not a proof of character.”

The smile was eradicated from Maven’s face and the way anger slithered through the surface of his mind, Alyn knew he had gone too far.

Thunder rolled over them, drowning everything he might have tried to say.

The next bolt of light flashed over the sky, faster this time, followed closer by more thunder. It wasn’t entirely white this time, throwing a slightly blue glimmer over the room.

The rain now was not a storm. Only light drops splattering against the window of the kings study. He was in a better mood this day. He was  positively gleaming in joy over something Alyn had no clue about. And some part of Alyn was very much reminded of the days in the room as he watched the king that once had been his friend. Now he was not sure. A promise not to bite, a friendly gesture, a bloody hand. He pitied the king as much as he flinched every time anger and hatred formed the everlasting puddle that suffocated everything that had once been good and fair. The amount of loathing curling up in one chest, making it burst.

“You may find it of interest,” the king said. “I offered a bargain.”

Taking pity? Alyn blinked at him. A bargain was not something Alyn had expected.It defied the anger and the need to solve it all , smothering it. 

“You did?”

Maven’s mouth twitched slightly. “Weren’t you all for compassion, Lord Velx?”

Alyn lowered his gaze. “What is the bargain?”

“ My brother for a slight adjustment of conscription age.”

“That is...” It was something, right? But the way Maven evaded Alyn's gaze , slippery in his mental grip was not making him believe. “ That would be a gracious deal. If it was true.”

“What makes you think I am lying?”

_ The way you and your mother are scheming, and the way you lean over the papers. You know how to cling to me, if you want to. But you also know how to trick me, you did it before when you told me things didn’t go as planned. You were asked not to lie, so you resorted to not saying the truth. _

“Please prove me wrong.”

It was  an offer, an outstretched hand like the night after the chaos at the ball. It seemed like an eternity and had been what, Alyn thought, little more than a week?

Maven scoffed softly before turning away.

“What about Mare Barrow?”

“What about,” Maven repeated, ever so slowly, padding over the carpet. “Mare Barrow.”

There was unhealthy longing blooming through the puddle, stretching feelers, like ink forming strings in water, a longing that made Alyn feel insufficient. It was not the bonfire Thomas had been, and the more the longing lingered, the more it became something very uncomfortable.

Not unlike the loathing Maven held for his brother. It was rejection and neglect, overshadowed fear and need, coeducational.

And it reminded Alyn very much of his own bitter feelings the day he had found out that Maven was not at all what he hoped to find.

It was the need to possess and the fear never being able to.

It ached in Alyns hollow chest.

“I will be gone, for a while.” The king said, without answering Alyn's question. 

“Should I pack my things, your majesty?”

“ As much as I enjoy your company,” Maven said, finally looking at him again. “You aren’t fit to leave the palace.”

True enough, Alyn couldn’t disagree. It did still sting.

“Safe travels then,” the words felt stiff on his lips. It was the disappointment, though he didn’t know why he was so disappointed.

“I'll be back soon.” He felt Maven’s amusement, and to Alyns own surprise he bristled, brooding, as the king stepped closer.

“It’s not in my business to tell the king where to go. You have your tasks,   I am sure.” He felt like a soldier, back straight, head up, eyes trying to evade the kings gaze.

“Look at me.” 

Alyn sighed deeply but did not comply.

“Look at me, Alyn Velx.” Maven said, more firm and less gentle.

Alyn felt a hand brush over his shoulder, and as he turned his gaze, he saw blue eyes that had followed him in his dreams in the darkness of a cell.

 “You taught  me a lot about waiting, Alyn Velx.” The hand brushed over his arm a second time. Despite his own disappointment and worry, Alyn’s heart fluttered. “About patience. You endure. You are a true friend. And when I am back, I will show you.”

“I’ll take my own lessons to heart  and wait a bit longer.” He is going to hurt people, a part of Alyn was too aware of that.

The other part was just aching because of the king's departure. Alyn hated himself, not for the first time in his life.

When the king returned, he did not send for Alyn. Instead he treated him like he did not exist.

They did not cross ways. There was no trace of acknowledgement. Alyn wondered if he had forgotten him already. When I am back, I will show you.

No words, no longer. Empty promises. Alyn should have been used to it. He could not swallow this pill too big.

Alyn sat on his bed for hours.

Three days, not a sign. Alyn had stopped asking. He had resorted to not even get up, burying himself in memories of thunderstorms, of sunshine, of a little girl named Zella he whirled around, and he stared at the picture of her face, trying to imagine how he whirled a teenage girl around . He imagined her to smell like the sunshine he remembered, of the dust in his old home. In the end, the image crumbled to ashes.

_Like a kicked puppy, Al. When is it ever not complicated?_

_Stay with me. I'm here, alright?_

You are not, Alyn thought. And you’ll never be again.

He missed a friendly face. A shoulder to lean on. It had made life more bearable. 

Who even cared?

He was a tool,and now he was not sharp enough to be used anymore.

It took five days until someone came. And it was no servant, nor Elara, to mock him. It was Maven himself, and the moment he entered the door, Alyn felt the chaos in his head all too well.

Alyn had a déjà vu. He remembered the day he had been lying in the very same bed, and the prince had slammed the door.

But this time there was no grief. There was the same angry energy, the same twisted mind. Pain limped to Alyn like an old acquaintance, followed by desperation and a need. 

“You should not be here,” Alyn whispered.

“Is that all you have to say?” Maven sounded very bitter and deeply hurt. _Hurt in his pride_  Alyn recognized.

Whatever that wicked mind had planned, it had failed. Alyn was torn between feeling pity and feeling glad.

“What should I say?” Alyn asked scrambling to his bare feet.

“ You do your wise old eyes and tell me something idealistic about the world.” 

Wise old eyes?  Despite the severity of the situation and the strained air, running thick tension, Alyn smiled a little. He felt a little overconfident, even, with the king himself standing in his bedroom. “I am afraid I don’t have a cookie cutter wisdom ready now. You should have told me in advance you’d stop ignoring me.”

“I didn’t ignore you, Alyn Velx. And even if I did, you can be sure it would have suitable reasons. “

“So you did or didn’t ignore me? You lost me, your majesty.”

The kings jaw was clenched tight, and as Alyn moved closer, he saw the muscles on his neck move. He regretted not taking this serious.

“I am glad to see you.” Alyn Velx said, as it was the only truth he had to offer that was not a firework of blame or sorrow.

“ As am I.” Maven muttered.

“I hope you had safe travels. I haven’t been on the road for a while but I hear the new king has started construction sites on some parts of the country, making the streets and parts of some towns unbearable.”

“You are horrible at small talk.” Maven let out a stifled laugh.

“Am I? Must be the time I spend in dark chambers waiting.”

He hadn’t finished shrugging his shoulders when a head brushed his neck, a nose burying on the brim of his shirt. The king’s skin was too hot, almost feverish. And he gripped Alyn so tight in a soul crushing hug that he wasn’t able to breathe for a moment.

“I was so close.”

Ink spilled in water, dark strings like a network of roots, or ivy overgrowing windows.

_ The need to possess, the obsession rinsing out every other emotion, and the deep frustration and anger. _

“I was so-“ Maven’s hand gripped Alyn even harder.”I wanted- I needed-“

It hurts, Alyn thought, doesn’t it? Being close to someone who won’t ever love you like you want to be loved?

He didn’t say it. Instead he put his arms around Maven, leaning up as the king was leaning down to him. “You are hurting me.” He whispered.

The face on his skin started shaking, as did the hands that gripped him so tight he felt bruises already blooming.

“Gentle, your grace. “ Alyn whispered, feeling hot tears seeping into the collar of his shirt. “Gentleness wins more than force. You can force people all you want, they’ll fear you. Not love you. But you know that.”

The hands gripped him less tight with every stroke of Alyn’s fingers , combing through hair, caressing a strained back. His mind was the epitome of his words, giving a weeping boy the embrace of everything that was warm, and everything other people had ever given him.

A talk between books, a hand nudging his in worry and support, a girl laughing in sunshine. A prince joking about a  court rule. Even a king, handing him a crimson blanket not to shiver.

* * *

 

Giving a mind peace, making someone relax, it was the first thing his uncle had taught him. He had practiced on animals first, then , sometimes, his uncle allowed him to try it on him. But he never did it without consent up until the day his father had tossed him in the pit of venomous snakes that was the palace. He had managed to master the craft , his foremost defence and most effective weapon, trapped behind stone walls filled with people of all forms and characters, stomping , screaming, begging, until they were broken.

No one wanted peace more than the trapped.

But he had learned, filling minds with peace and blessings, love and gentle light, was becoming harder the older he got. He saw more dread , felt more fear, inflicted more pain.

After all the pain, he felt like every time he gave someone a good feeling, a part of him was missing.

The gift was a part of his soul, one could say.

Maven held the most fractured pieces , and held them tight, as tight as his hand had gripped Alyn.

Alyn sat in front of the kings bedroom, leaning on the door, listening closely to deep breaths of a person falling into a slumber. His mind watched just as closely, working gentle, like a kitten rolling in the kings lap. He was too tired to do much. But he gave him the last bit of peace he could muster. Though his head was throbbing, he kept his posture on the door frame.

He had refused to leave again, but of course, nothing could stop his mother from coming and going as she pleased.

When she stepped out of the bedroom, her eyes lingered on his face. With her, he never wondered what she saw.

She saw a tool. She saw an exotic parrot she had purchased long ago.

He knew she didn’t like it the slightest how the tides had turned. You are not as important as you think you are, she had said the night he had been brought to prison. The truth was, Alyn didn’t know if he was important. But he felt stronger since their return to the capital.

“I know all the mock and venom,” he told her. “ You took my everything. Nothing you can say will hurt me.”

Big words, the demons whispered in his head. Big words from a weakling. From a coward. You can’t stand the pain. You crawl to Maven like he does to you. His hatred gives you reason. Else you would be nothing but tears and sadness.

Alyns heart was beating so fast his chest was about to explode, and little flecks of grey danced before his eyes. He’d have a very bad migraine soon. Her  presence didn’t make it easier.

“You really believe my son loves you.”

“You used the word infatuation.” He reminded her, still gripping tightly to Maven’s mind, lulling him into gentle sleep. The obsessive feeling, the longing and the anger faded into calm and relaxed waves.

He was more tired than ever, but he wouldn’t stop , and especially not with her so close.

“He loves the pity. And he is very fond of your attempt to control his feelings. You are like a pain killer, Alyn Velx. Not unlike the drug you crave to make the voices stop. “

He couldn’t disagree. It made it even worse. At the mentioning of the potion an itch crept up his arm.

“I wonder,” she said, brows drawn together in the imitation of sympathy. “How long can you feed him? “

He was quiet for the longest time, concentration all on the king.

“Will you cage me again?”

She was genuinely amused. A small laugh escaped her lips. “He will toss you aside soon enough. He always comes back to me. And if not-“ Her hand reached out in an almost gentle gesture, and Alyn thought she wanted to cup his cheek. Instead she touched his face on the spot under his nose, just a fingertip over his lips, holding a piece of richly embroidered cloth between her index and middle finger. He watched her confused as she retreated. There was silver blood on her blue handkerchief. His hand following her trace, he touched his nose. It was bleeding, small traces of blood streaming down. He pressed both hands over his nose, warm tingling sensation. Curious, he didn’t feel pain. Not his own.

She studied the blood with mild interest and amusement, turning the handkerchief ever so careful. “You’ll soon destroy yourself, little monster.”

Her slender fingers swatted the dirty handkerchief away, like it was a bug she had to get rid off. The blue cloth sailed to the ground. Then she turned away from him, swaying along with grace and confidence. He was dirt under her feet.

Alyn was still staring at the silver blood on the handkerchief, then back at his own hands. They had started shaking. 

 

 

 


	5. Snowflakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyn makes a new friend and suffers from health problems.

****The travel was a blur.

His hands were sweating and leaving stains on the glass as Alyn leaned against the window in excitement.

He felt like a animal, once locked in, now roaming free for the first time. Blue, green, grey , splotches of brown raced by as they made their way down the road.

The person seated beside him shifted slightly, and Alyn remembered that he wasn't alone.

Elane Haven felt kind. When Alyn looked at her, her eyes smiled. He could see she was pretty, even for the standards of the court. And he remembered the gentle waves of her love when she had been close to Evangeline Samos.

Her red curls shimmered in the flickering light as they moved through a tunnel, and Alyn sat straight.

"You seem very excited, Lord Velx." She said, and she seemed genuinely interested for him to answer.

"I am sorry if my enthusiasm is a tad too obvious." He smiled back. "I am not used to traveling."

Not like this, without a bag over your head and a guard to hit you, or your father to drag you around, the voice in his head mocked, the voice that always saw the bad side of everything.

"It's all right." She assured him. "I remember my first travel, I was just as excited to see the country. And you are not present at a coronation tour everyday."

It held a certain meaning he travelled seating beside the woman that was the paramour of the future queen. A message all too clear, though no one said a thing. Officially Elane was coming along because she was such a close friend to the future queen. And her husband would meet up with her soon, one could say they met halfway.

He was surprised how much he enjoyed her company. She was quiet but clever, her mind kind and grounded. He wondered why he had never given her any second thought. Because, he noticed, quiet people often get mistaken for stupid.

Coronation. At the thought of more crowds, the excitement about the travel almost faded. But not for very long.

Alyn gripped his hands in his lap. He almost felt giddy. "You don't mind being forced at my side?" he asked her. " I believe it's a social downfall for a fair lady like yourself."

She smiled at that. "A downfall? Don't you think people will flock me? I get to be seated with the infamous tattered lord. Everyone will want to know."

"Pardon me, infamous? I haven't done anything, have I?"

Her eyes wandered around before she leaned closer. He could smell her faint perfume, just as unobtrusive as herself.

"Some say you are just a sycophant. Flattering the new king, still in grief." Her clever eyes seemed to see through Alyn's attempt to make his face unreadable. "Some say you hold political value. Maybe in Piedmont. Or ties to the Lakelands."

Her voice was but a whisper, caressing his skin. He huffed in amusement.

"Most people see your pretty face and say that its obvious why the king takes you with him everywhere."

Not everywhere, Alyn thought bitter, not when he is on his hunts, prowling and setting traps, failing to catch his prey yet. And there is nothing I can do about that.

"The kings paramour." Elane said, and her mind was open and wide aware of the irony they had this talk.

Alyn felt his cheeks flush.  _A hand gripping tight, a boy thinking_ _ **I love you**_.  _An aching hollow pain._

"People are obviously mistaken."

She gave him one last look before turning away. He saw himself mirrored in the window, dressed in faded green, cheeks bright silver in embarrassment, hair tousled. He looked like the fool he was.

"It won't be much longer." Elane said after a while, her fingers smoothing a crinkle out of her sleeve.

The crowd was exactly what Alyn had feared. It was like back in the arena again. He was rendered useless. Worse. The excitement washed over him, making him wince in the attempt to resist laughing like a madman.

Alyn knew some of the names and faces. He was well placed, hidden from most eyes, but still close enough to see a crimson red coat in the assembled party.

His mind reached out like a bird spreading its wings. A pleasant surprise. Maven was positively enjoying the attention.

Elaras face was hidden behind the veil she had worn at the bowl of bones. Alone the sight made Alyn's heart clench in disgust and sadness. He remembered the blood and brain spraying over the sand. The voice of the new crowned king spreading words as wrong as they were clever.

"Stick with me," Elane offered. Her eyes were glaring at Evangeline Samos, and her mind was filled with worry and awe. It was like she had seen the sun for the first time.

The king should be accompanied by no less than the best.

In metal, silver hair shimmering, Samos was more than the best.

A queen, it said, and though Evangeline didn't hold much fondness for maven in her heart, she knew the games and she was still all but thrown back and very angry by the way all of this had turned out since the queens trial. Anger makes a strong alliance. Alyn had no doubt Maven and Elara knew exactly what to tell and what not to keep the leash strong and the feelings heavy.

He took Elanes offer, staying at her side, which proved to be of some reassurance.

The city was brimming with energy. It was not like anything he had ever felt.

The crowd accompanied their short trip, with guards and sentinels left and right, and security so tight, one wrong move , one person not cheering but shouting ,would probably have ripped the peaceful charade.

_He still felt it. Something wasn't quite right._

His mind tried to sort through the different people as they passed, but it was too overwhelming. Clinging to Maven and still attempt to find the wrong wasn't possible. But he couldn't let go of the king. Not now. He needed something familiar.

The building towered over them. It wasn't quite as impressive as the palace, but much bigger than any other of the well groomed houses.

Of course, Alyn thought, it's the best part of town. No one wants to broadcast a starving family. Or dirty red faces.

The paved way was so clean, only small cobbles crunched under the soles of his boots. Of course, he didn't hear them, but felt it. The noise was too loud. Voices on the out and inside.

His legs were made of lead, so heavy he couldn't lift them, with the headache already approaching.

A red coat in the distance, Alyn doubled his efforts to stick to Elane and the king both. He couldn't disappoint. Not after it had taken him days to persuade Maven to take him with him.

Suddenly he felt Elanes warm hand on his arm. " Lord Velx." She sounded genuinely worried.

He turned to look at her, feeling something warm tickle down his face.

"You are bleeding." She said.

His sleeve was stained with silver blood as he wiped it over his face. "It happens from time to time. Don't concern yourself." He tried to calm her, reaching out to her feelings and sending her a long reassuring wave.

The bleeding stopped as fast as it had come, but the headache made it hard for him to press on.

As they reached the inside of the house, and the crowd faded behind the doorsteps, a small weight left his shoulders. He breathed in deep. And then, all of a sudden, the world went black.

When he woke up, he was surprised to find Elane Haven at his bedside.

She had been reading, but when she noticed him stir, she closed the leather bound tome and looked at him.

"You are awake."

" I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No bother. You were unconscious for quite a while. The king expressed his concern. He and Lady Samos are still occupied. But since I am still waiting for my behrothed's arrival, I offered to watch you."

" Can we speak openly?" Alyn asked.

Elane looked around. " As far as I know. What's on your mind, Lord Velx?"

"Just Alyn. Please." He huffed in pain, sitting up. " We both know why you are accompanying the future queen. So no need to pretend. At least not when we are alone. You are kind, and I want you to know I appreciate that very much. "

"You are not afraid I want something in return for this kindness?" she cocked her head, curls dancing.

He swallowed hard before answering. "I would have noticed that the moment we met. I am good with reading people. And since I can feel your curiosity, yes, I can read everything you feel like you would have written it on your forehead."

She was quiet for a while, thoughtful, and nodded. "I suspected as much."

I knew you were clever, he thought, watching her intricate face.

In the morning, long after Elane had departed, another group of people came to visit. The woman was clearly a healer, radiating something sterile and clean.

"Lord Velx, the king ordered me to inform you , that you'll be watched closely the next days."

" I am very much healthy." Alyn lied.

" Please keep calm," the woman said. It didn't have any use. As he saw the syringe, he panicked. The needle was too big. But he was terribly afraid of what it would bring. Needles and liquids, used right, had done a big deal in interrogations. Alyn remembered the blood, the pain, the fear. He was terrified, midly put. Heart racing, he scrambled to his feet. He didn't get very far.

In the end the syringe found a way in his arm. Yellow liquid rushed through his blood.

And the feelings were gone.

* * *

Even in the cold late autumn, the garden was beautiful. Void of blooming colourful flowers but still filled with well Shaped trees and bushes that hadn't entirely lost all their leaves. Orange and brown was still there, along the bare lines of branches.

The sky was very white.

"It's refreshing," Alyn said. He wore a crimson red scarf, and the way people had oogled his choice of colour told him they noticed. Maven had noticed too. They were dressed the same, in black, with crimson splattered along their dark clothing just like the left leaves in the bare trees. " I have never taken just a walk with you."

" You were hidden for very long." The king looked pale, with grey circles around his eyes.

Don't stay up reading all night, Alyn had joked when they had been sitting in the room once. He didn't feel like joking now. Feeling himself, and only himself all the time, it was like someone had blinded him.

" You look better. Almost healthy." The king said.

" Your grace, excuse the insolence. But you don't."

Maven let out a stifled chuckle, wiping some leaves away with his boot as they walked under a row of trees with deep hanging branches.

" Maybe because no one is watching my sleep."

Alyn wished he would have been able to feel what Maven was going through. The urge to stretch his mind, but there was no way. And so all he did was walk a little closer to Maven.

"Mock me all you want for caring. I do know there are a lot of things you don't tell me."

" For the best, my tattered lord. " There was still a smile on Maven's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. " But you aren't tattered anymore, as I see. We should call you something else."

"I have heard the most scandalous things about us." Alyn joked half-hearted.

"I leave him behind and he becomes a gossipmonger . " Maven returned the half hearted joke. " Elane Haven has taken to your liking, I hear."

There was something lurking in his voice, and Alyn choose his next words careful.

"She is a good person." He said, wary.

"Is she? And what do you two do?"

Alyn blinked, before he stopped walking. They had reached the end of the treeline, and a small group of benches was positioned between carefully placed marble sculptures of various kings, horses and heroes.

"Are you jealous, your majesty?"

Maven sank on a bench next to an impressive stature of a king long forgotten, riding a horse, crown glittering, coat fluttering heroic in the wind.

"I don't consider myself good at sharing, if that answers your question." He huffed, a little cloud of frozen air in the cold. "And why would I? I am the king."

"You are." Alyn answered. " And I wear your colours."

You can do good. Alyn wanted to say. You can do so much more. Please prove me wrong. I am waiting. I am always waiting for you.

To that, Maven had no answer.

A while they stared at each other, silent. Maven seemed far away, deep in thought. Alyn sighed as something wet hit his face.

Alyn looked up in wonder as a little flake touched his cheek in a cold but gentle kiss.

Snow.

He watched the white flakes rain down in a careful flutter, shy almost.

More snowflakes landed on his hands as he stretched them out, as if to catch them.

Something about the snow filled Alyns aching heart with content and joy. He let out the smallest of laughs. Maven watched him closely, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders.

It was the first snow Alyn saw since he was a child. He had never touched it. He had never felt more free as the moment the flakes landed on his face. In a silly gesture of joy he stretched up, whirling around. His scarf fluttered like a banner . He knew he probably looked like a young dog, and not very good. He didn't care.

"Your grace," he laughed, breathless, little puffs of fog flying, every time he opened his mouth. "Its snowing! Look! Look!"

Maven watched still quiet, thoughtful.

"Do you think it will stay? I'd love to touch it."

"Its not cold enough for that yet." Maven answered, sitting on the bench and watching Alyn running wild ,in havoc. "You get excited over the most simple things, Lord Velx."

"Simple?" Alyn was still smiling. " This is beautiful! How could you not get excited ?"

"I admire your enthusiasm." Maven said, frowning. " I really do. But I don't like water or snow very much."

OH, Alyn remembered. Burners did not enjoy wet surroundings. It was incompatible with the heat, it was weakness.

And who hated weakness more than the king?

" I forgot, your grace." Alyn apologized. " We can go back inside. I can admire the snow from a warm spot by the window."

" But how would you prance around like a kitten then?" Maven blinked irritated as a snowflake hit his brow, sliding over one side of his face like a tear as it melted.

"An umbrella, then, maybe?" Alyn suggested.

"Imagine the king with an umbrella , watching his protégé smear himself with snow." There was mock in Maven's voice. "What are you doing?"

Alyn unbuttoned his coat. Then he took a spot next to Maven, holding the coat over the kings head. He had watched a man once doing something similar as it rained, spreading it over a woman like an umbrella. It was better than nothing, wasn't it?

"Ridiculous." Maven assured him, but he seemed grateful that there wasn't anymore snow tangling in his hair.

" See? Now I can admire the snow and you are not wet."

" But you will be in no time." Maven's hand took one edge of the coat. " Join me."

Alyn thought about Elanes words.  _You are the king's paramour._  Something warm fluttered in his chest, but he did as asked, and under the tent of Alyn Velx coat, he was well aware of the warmth radiating from Maven's body. For only a moment, he could lie to himself and see the boy he loved, not the king that rained his wrath over those who disobeyed.

"It may seem strange." Alyn whispered. " But I missed you."

"Not strange." Maven whispered back. "But oddly endearing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some errors in chapter 6, I took it down, but don't worry, I will make it a double upload!<3


	6. Scattered secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone thinking this is unrealistic or out of place, I promise this will have consequences in the later chapters.

The box rested on the table in the generous room he had been given. It gleamed in the light, simple blue and green that reminded Alyn of a coat in the snow, followed by a fluttering, weak moment when his heart jumped in his chest.

"A pretty thing." Elane said, setting the cup down.

Alyn had absently moved his fork over the plate without as much as picking the food. Now he looked back to the young woman seated on the other side of the table, next to the window, red gleaming curls and well tailored dark gown.

"Yes. Sadly one of few possessions, but one that matters all the more."

It had become their regular schedule, meeting up when the king and his betrothed were busy and official, to keep low, not showing their faces and eat, or just talk.

As someone who had few really regular and healthy friendships, the concept of spending time in peace together held something relaxing. Even worse was the fact he never had a  _lady_ friend, but Elane was gracious enough to let any kind of faux pas slip without mentioning it, and if she did, she was friendly enough about it.

It also helped that he was still under the syringe of the healer, who came on regular basis.

He still feared the needle but he welcomed the drug.

And it was true, since he had been drugged, there were no more nosebleeds and headaches. He still felt his skin too small and was irritated not being able to read the intentions of his opponents, but it was a price he paid to stay close to the king.

"A gift?" she asked, taking her knife and fork as well now, but not as clumsy and absent as Alyn.

He looked at the meat on her plate and shivered, before returning to his own meatless meal.

"Everything I own is a gift. You know I am all depending on his majesty's good will."

"Not everything you own." She smiled. "That charming personality is all yours."

" Mock wrapped up in a compliment? My, Lady Haven, I am shocked." He wasn't hungry. He never ate much anyway. But if only to be polite, he chewed a few bites of his food.

"Good natured joke,not mock," she corrected him.

He knew, of course. She was nothing but kind. All the bark and bite was stuck in Evangeline Samos, while Elane maintained calm and patient. An odd pair, Alyn thought, not for the first time.

" Will you be visiting the city later?" Alyn asked, looking down through the window.

"Well," she took her cup again, lips curling up. "Ptolemus is gone again. But Evangeline will return shortly. I had hoped to spent some time with her, before we leave again tomorrow."

"Mhm." They ate in silence. Mostly, Elane, while Alyn picked on the food and moved it back and forth with his fork like a finicky child not ready to eat their vegetables.

"You don't look happy." Elane noticed. Alyn abandoned his meal once and for all.

"It's nothing, really." He tried to brush her off, friendly, but without his powers she noticed the lie.

"You are such a bad liar. Did someone cross you?" Was that pity? Or was she just friendly? Alyn hoped for the latter.

"No, spirits, Elane, no one talks to me. Really. I am sorry to bother you." He sighed. "It' s just...I came here to be a friend. But what good am I without my power? And if I am good for anything, why doesn't he want to see me? He's avoiding me since we left Delphie."

"He is the king." She just said, as if that would explain everything.

It probably did.

"Yes. Yes he is." Alyn hummed softly. His skin irked. He would have taken ten crowds for the feelings of others. People's intentions were so blurry without his ability, he was afraid to get paranoid.

"I am sure he is occupied. You didn't do anything wrong, as far as I know." Her eyes followed his back to the box.

He pushed the cutlery and plate to the side. She was quiet, almost waiting.

Elane Haven took his hand, for only a moment, leaning over the table. In that moment, he was glad to have her as a friend.

Then she stood up.

He felt like a lovesick fool as he sat on the table, staring at the box as if it could magically answer all his questions.

* * *

Moving through the house of the lord, whatever, whichever one, Alyn had forgotten, he gave his best to evade servants and the entourage from the court as well. There had been security settings at his door , but Alyn had complained loud enough and often , and the man were ordered away after he threatened to just jump out of windows if he wasn't allowed to use doors.

Of course he still had enough conditions to fulfil. He wasn't allowed in certain rooms, he wasn't to leave whatever house they stayed in.

The house was big enough to fit in one of the slums of the city, but he had still heard people complain about the size. A cell would teach any of you respect for the small things in life, he mused.

That was the moment the king's mother caught his eye. A blur in black and blue, she moved fast and easy. When people made room for you wherever you breathed, you didn't have a problem with confidence, he guessed. Or maybe it was just her twisted mind . He wished he could have felt anything. But it wouldn't have been different than all the other times. Slippery ice walls.

The carpet eased his steps.

He wondered what she was up to.

She was heading straight for a room occupied as an office.

Only one sentinel on her heels.

Careful, very careful, he followed.

The door closed when Alyn was just waiting around the corner, half covered by an expensive vase, transparent thin white porcelain carefully painted and probably worth more than his life.

The sentinel was inside, luckily. He glanced left and right one last time before moving to the door. He couldn't see through any kind of keyhole, but at least their voices were clear enough to understand some parts.

It was a man, voice booming.

"They are secured for now," the man said.

Elara seemed immensely pleased.

Someone moved inside, something rustled, and the few things he understood didn't make much sense. Then the rustling stopped.

"Make sure to depart as fast as possible." She said.

He leaped back as the doorknob turned, behind the safety of the vase.

It left him with more questions than answers. He knew they hid a lot. Not only from him. But from everyone.

If he had his powers, Alyn thought, bitter, he could have found multiple ways to get behind this.

But even if he denied the syringe. The withdrawal would be heavy. Too heavy to find answers before they departed.

He needed a plan. And he needed a lot of luck.

When he turned back, he had already started to working on options. Maybe scout the city? But for what? Who was brought where? No no, he knew he wouldn't get very far with that.

The paranoia was gripping him now. He almost thought someone had said his name.

What he needed was access to information. What he needed was knowledge. He knew how to pick a lock. He would get it. Hidden in his coat was still the wire he had stolen in the palace. When they had taken the letter, they hadn't taken the needle and the wire. Funny enough. He had noticed he was still in possession of those when he packed up to leave for the coronation tour.

So, back to his rooms, and then-

He almost crashed into a security guard, running his patrol. The man stared at him, but by now most of the men were used to his dishevelled existence. He was still the scarecrow, keeping distance from others, running lonely circles. But he was harmless. At least for now. No one was more disappointed and glad at the same time than Alyn.

The room the king inhabited was at the end of the corridor, not too far from his own, which made the fact that Alyn was ignored again not better.

The camera on the wall was straight pointed at the door.

He waited for the patrolling man to pass before he disabled it, simply following the wires and prying them out with a little help of his makeshift lock picks.  _Just a bit, maybe it was a malfunction_. He was painfully aware people would notice soon enough. He didn't have much time.

His hands were sweaty. But he worked as fast as he could. He left a trail of evidence, but he couldn't do much.

Through the door, to the desk and the drawers. It was four drawers, and Alyn had no choice but let coincidence decide his fate. His choice was the first one on the right side. It was a gamble. But he had to know. Surprisingly enough, this one wasn't locked.

He had thought to find papers, reports maybe. But nothing had prepared him to find a letter that bore his name, smudged with dirt.

_Al,_

The letter simply started. Alyn gripped the paper hard. There was only one person calling him that.

_I got lucky enough not to get sent close to the choke. It's still hell. Worse than ever._

_They found out I refused to fire a gun. I could as well be a deserter._

_Velanna is here too. She is the only reason people haven't locked me up. I am working at the field hospital with he healers. It's the same as always. The poor red fellows are bleeding to death like pigs everyday. The silver people have it a little better. But then again, we are worth ten red kids._

_They are kids. Kids._

The handwriting was shaky. Alyn could only imagine what Vael Gliacon was going through.

_I hear very little out here. But they say the prince killed his father. A shame. I believed him to be a great general and good person._

_I guess that makes your best friend the new king. Maybe you can put in a good word. At least for Velanna. She hurt her leg and I don't think she will survive very long when they when they ambush us. She is a fighter, my sister, but not suited for this battlefield. She can't remember why she was sent here. They say she helped the Scarlet Guard escape. I don't think she did._

_No hard feelings, by the way, Al. I would have gone to protect my sister anyway._

_Your friend_

_Vael Gliacon_

The drawer was filled with half a dozen of letters. All bore the same handwriting. All adressed to Alyn Velx. The writing got more frantic, more shaky with every letter he opened.

_Al,_

_I haven't heard anything from you-_

_Al,_

_I hope you are allright, we aren't doing well-_

_Al,_

_I miss the palace more than I thought._

_Al,_

_Velanna is dead._

Alyn felt anger and sadness boiling in his heart. Maven had kept them from him.

He had no right to do that, Alyn thought. Whatever his reasons. He hadn't. He thought Vael Gliacon was stuck in a bad spot. And he had been right. But he had reached out to him. To him. Because he had been his friend. His sister was dead and Alyn hadn't even known.

He was painfully aware how much the king was keeping from him.

Whatever he had hoped to find. This wasn't it. This was something else, violating and corrupting a friendship he thought was holding at least some respect and trust.

He folded the papers, putting them back slowly, even if he wanted nothing else but keep them.

That was the moment the door opened.

For all the moments the king could have chosen to step into his life again, it was the worst. In the distance, security lingered, but relaxed. They knew him by now. He wasn't more dangerous for the king than a dusty fluff.

Alyn felt the colour drain from his face.

"Waiting again, Lord Velx?" Maven asked and his eyes saw right through the cracking mask of Alyn's smile. "Is something wrong?"

"You startled me." He coughed out a stifled chuckle.

The drawer was wide open, for everyone to see. If the king turned his head, he would know.

"You are the one breaking into my room and I startled you?"

It was only one part play when he drew him in a hug. He was surprised when the king's arms closed around him and reciprocated the embrace.

Alyn felt deep rooted disgust for himself as he felt the warmth of Maven's hand on his back.

* * *

It was the same in the next two cities they visited.

Someone would whisper something in Elaras ear, and the king was even more absent than in the weeks before the ball had exploded. Sometimes their eyes locked, when Alyn lurked around. There were notes, scattered for Alyn Velx eyes only, hidden and delivered very quiet. As soon as he got them, he ripped them into the tiniest pieces, not even reading them. He had read enough for a lifetime. The day in the snow had been a dream for all he knew. Alyn mourned Vael Gliacons loss, silent. Who would he have told? He had committed treason when he broke into the room the king was using. His only friend was Elane Haven but he knew he couldn't tell her.

The healer made things worse when the syringe was only filled with a quarter of the usual dose. He was sweaty, moody, foul mouthed, and echoes of feelings started to ripple through his brittle bones. He felt like he was made of glass.

Maybe, he thought bitter, it was for the better the king was too busy keeping precious secrets. He wasn't sure what he would have thought about his misbehaving. And he was even less sure he could pull a friendly face again.

"It was never meant to be more than temporary. Your vital functions have stabilized again, so we can stop." The healer told Alyn ."The withdrawal will be short term. Lord Velx, would you mind NOT kicking the chair?"

He behaved like a scorned lover, or like a child that hadn't gotten its will. But he didn't care.

Security had gotten tighter with their destinations.

At some point he stopped eating, and even trying to look respectable. The tattered lord was a mess of grey circled eyes and crumbled clothes. The healer was less than pleased with him. He was as far from caring as a bird cared for a blade of grass far down under the clouds.

* * *

"Your birthday was last week, if I am correct."

Alyn felt like a ghost, all will to sit straight sucked out of his bones. He didn't even look up.

"Yes, probably, I lost track of birthdays for a while, your grace."

_What a perfect present. Letters from a friend. Letters that told nothing but grief. Letters YOU had._

Crimson and black, Maven Calore stood by the window. "No wish?"

"You can't grant me anything I would desire." Alyn whispered, crossing his arms.

He felt the rift between them. He was sure he wasn't the only one.

"I meant to give them to you," The king said watching him . "The letters. We both know you read them."

Hoping no one would notice his sneaking had been in vain then. He was surprised no one had locked him up. _Yet._

"You were sick, Alyn."

I am still sick, he thought, shivering, staring into silver freckled eyes. Just a different kind of sickness.

"I wanted to wait for a better opportunity."

"There is no good opportunity for bad news." Alyn scoffed.

One hand stretched out, another flinched back. Maven's lips were a thin displeased line. Alyn made another step back. "If you could feel it, you'd know I meant well."

_Words, words, empty words. Empty promises. Hollow chests and burning eyes._

For a long time, Alyn couldn't talk.

He didn't need his powers to feel Maven's impatience.

"Your crown, your majesty." He finally said, stretching his hands out, palms up. Like he was a beggar waiting for a coin.

Maven stared at Alyn's hands as if they had transformed into claws, ready to rip him apart.

"Take off your crown." Alyn repeated.  _My last offer._

Bristling, the king complied, laying cold metal kissed with red flames into his palms.

Alyn put it on the table, careful, before turning around.

"See, not so hard."

"I am not sure what you are aiming for."

"You say you meant well." Alyn's eyes wandered back down the window, into a city he had never visited. "We'll see about that."

* * *

 

"I should have never let you talk about this.” Maven whispered, clearly displeased, staring at the stone steps like they were molten lava. 

“Think of it like a story in one of your books.” Alyn offered. “I am not demanding for you to go into the slums, your- “ He stopped himself.  _No more your grace,_ _no_ _more kings and lords. Just you and me._ _Maven and Alyn._  

What a strange image.  Alyn scratched his cheek, half hidden under his hood. Without a cape and a crown the king was still flawlessly regal, but he seemed unsure where to set his feet. And unwilling. 

 _For once we feel the same._  

“Just a few steps. No one will notice.” Alyn offered in a desperate attempt to get them moving. 

Maven didn’t fit that worthy of an answer. Alyn felt the slightest echo of the city around him. Dampened like wandering through fog, it wasn’t unpleasant.  

The sweat on his brow  _was_ unpleasant. He felt his patience crumbling. The king was paranoid. At least he had agreed. Not everything is lost, Alyn thought. 

“I must be mad to even consider this.” Maven muttered, taking the stairs, catching up to Alyn. 

Wiping the sleeve over his forehead, Alyn couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. 

 _You and me both. Yet here we are._  

They took the stairs in silence.  

"It's pretty." Alyn said, looking up to the stone and glass around him. The streets were clean, the people busy. The square was big, with open windows, bustling shops and voices. Without the weight of thousand feelings, Alyn took his time to look around. 

No one took care of two boys walking along them. 

"I suppose it is." The king without the crown said, hands in his pockets. 

 _You look like very step is going to get you in a trap._  

"Oh, don't worry. We'll be back in no-" Alyn stopped dead in his tracks, eyes on something in the distance. Then he doubled his steps. 

A lonely brown horse on a beautiful black and silver carriage had caught his attention. He felt homesick again, for a moment, knowing there was no sense in thinking about something that didn't exist anymore.  

The horse made a little sound, exhaling air, shifting slightly as Alyn approached, hand outstretched. 

"No food, sorry, girl." He said, as the nuzzle touched his palm demanding.  

The coachman watched with mild curiosity, but he noticed fast that Alyn wasn't a thread and let it slide. It wasn't the first time ever nor today that people approached the horse.  

Maven kept his distance, but Alyn felt his eyes on his back. 

"One could think you have never seen a horse." 

The horse pushed its nuzzle against his hands again, and he touched the silken fur on its head. "I like animals. They don't  _lie_. " 

"Even dogs?" There was the dancing again, the hidden meanings.  

"I don't hold it against the dog he bit me." Alyn said, stroking the mane of the horse. It let him, puffing air quietly and seemingly content with the attention. " I hold it against myself because I blindly trusted. It still hurt." 

"How many times should I apologize-" 

Alyn grabbed the bridle slightly, to hold himself steady as he turned his head to stare at this strange and unwilling person. 

"You  **didn't**  apologize. If you wanted to, you could start with 'I am sorry, Alyn, for keeping things from you I wasn't supposed to even read.' My friend lost his sister. That doesn't mean anything to you. But it does to me." He gave the horse a few last pats before turning away.  _Just Alyn and Maven. How impossible. We are what we are. A king and his tattered lord._  

He walked away in silence. In a place unfamiliar and alien, it was strange he was the one leading the way. 

The king without his crown followed silent, eyes everywhere. 

At the end of the square, Alyn stopped. His boots made crushing noises, kicking a few cobbles over the stones. The sun drew soft orange circles over the roofs, leaving shadows and a blue and white sky. Though the air was cold, it was stinging clean and smelled of the last days before the final winter. A farewell. "It's all numbers and calculation. Except it's not. Look at these faces." 

Maven sighed. "So, this is what all of this is about? Teaching me compassion?" 

"I don't need to teach you." Alyn said. " At least I hope so. Just look. You don't really see them in a crowd, cheering, or up in that castles and high houses. They have no clue who we are. They enjoy the sunny autumn day." 

The king's mouth twitched and Alyn wished he could feel what was going through his head. 

"I tortured people like them," Alyn whispered. "I tickled the truth out of their heads. I know  _I_ can't forget their faces. I see them and I scream at night. I want you to consider that burden, and tell me it is worth whatever you are doing. Because I don't want you to carry it ever. Mistakes we make can't be reversed. Not with blood, not with anything." 

He remembered the kings face, rain splattering on windows, feet padding over carpet.  _What about Mare Barrow._  

"Whatever the other things you keep from me may be," he urged. "Please stop." 

"There is no stopping." Maven answered. " I am a man true to my word. And I promised something." 

"I see."  _The last offer had passed._ He felt disappointed. More than anything, he was still hurt and in a bad mood. Had he really believed a trip down the stairs, a few steps from the crown, and the king would see? What had he hoped? Redemption?  _I repent, I am sorry?_  

"Well, then let us return. I am sure you have other matters to attend to." 

 ** _People need help, Uncle Theron had said. Those wounds need time to heal._  ** 

 ** _Some people don't want help, Alyn had answered. My father doesn't want help. He likes_  ** ** _complaining._**  

 ** _No one is beyond saving, Theron had said._**  

Alyn hoped, more than anything, he was right. 

Maven shook his head. "I am sorry, Alyn Velx, for keeping things from you, I assure you, I had the best in mind." 

Alyn was, for what it was worth, speechless. 

"And since you insisted we visit the city, we might as well...continue." He wasn't very fond of the idea. Alyn could see it on the tip of his nose.  

"All right." Alyn just said. "But I am still awfully mad at you for keeping the letters. And I am not going to stop either. You'll see my side. You have to." 

He said it out loud to Maven as much as to himself. 

You are not the only one promising. 

If he had been fully recovered, Alyn Velx would have noticed they were far from two boys all alone. Of course, he would have thought, a king wouldn't ever take that bargain. And why would he? 

So, it was just another lie he couldn't notice. And maybe didn't want to. The fresh air was stinging o his nose and cheeks in no time, despite the hood. Flushed silver, he walked along the busy streets. They walked very close, and despite all the bottled-up pain, he couldn't stop thinking that it was the most normal thing they had ever done. 

The illusion didn't last for very long. 

Something bright caught his attention, and when he walked by, he saw a cage. 

The most colourful birds were seated in there, chirping, cluttering their beaks. 

Alyn felt disgust in his guts. 

An exotic bird, held captive and purchased, like it was a thing, nothing more than that. 

"Alyn." Maven's voice was weary.   

He wanted nothing more than grabbing the cages, throwing them open, see a thousand colours splatter over the sky. 

He imagined the drumming fluttering of wings. 

But they wouldn't survive very long in the cold, would they? 

Like he wouldn't survive very long without the king. 

A cage, he thought, a cage was to capture, to hold. But sometimes, the very same cage was all that their inhabitants knew. 

"This was a mistake." He said. "You were right. It was madness. Let's turn back."

 

They had been gone for less than an hour. It had felt like an eternity for Alyn. Faint fog clouded his mind, small impressions caught right and left.  For now, he could blend them all out, until the day he had to endure them all. 

He feared and desired that moment. It promised as much control as loss. 

The letters Vael Gliacon had written, lay neatly stacked next to the blue and green painted box.

* * *

 


	7. Courtiers and flattery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still got a bunch of words to edit, but here you have the first part. I hope I served some more atmosphere as you suggested, Pamsam :D
> 
> Also, I am still only halfway through Glass Sword , so if you find any wrong information, please tell me.

You want something done, a wise man had once said, you can let others handle it. But make sure to watch them.

Watching was Alyn's expertise. He felt the eyes of thousand minds staring back.

Some eyes were looking through him, seeing just another flattering lordling slithering around the feet of the king. Some eyes were clearly watching because Elara, for whatever she had told him, didn't like the freedom he was granted. And some eyes maybe watched for a different reason altogether.

The traveling was gruesome, especially when his powers returned. His body ached and his heart fluttered in his chest. A migraine made the world splotched with grey and black, heavy on his brow.

He didn't tell anyone. _You'll destroy yourself_ , Elara had said. And she had probably been right. He always had been self-destructive, not fit for a normal life, his family had made sure to keep him shut off. It was a price he had to pay, as he was well aware. And he couldn't afford to let anyone know his health declined as fast as it peeked under the influence of drugs.

The country remained impressive for a boy locked in cells and dusty chambers. Cities built out of stones and glass, streets wandered by many feet. With winter approaching fast, everything was cloaked in frost and fog.

He sat close to Elane most times, her clever, observant eyes his shield, her lips curling into the tiniest smiles. She was an anchor. Even if he could not tell her anything of his suspicions and fears. Kindness was rare, kindness was welcomed.

On rare occasions, the king granted him a place at his side. Alyn was still sour and angry, but it got easier. Maven was a habit. Their arrangement was a habit. Habits are easy to maintain. Especially when they are all one has. Both clad in black and crimson, he could only guess what an odd pair they were.

The eyes watched even closer.

The king's pet, they said. He felt their disgust.

_Why, your grace, not her pet, yours._

He remembered their bantering, forth and back, in easier times. Now it was all but too true. He was a caged bird to sing when demanded.

The more his powers returned, the more he was aware of the dangers. He had been in the game, knowing fears and toying with them before. But nothing prepared him for the strained atmosphere.

There was a silence where laughter once had resided. There were whispers where silence ought to be.

The tattered lord wished himself back in his mask because they were all aware of his presence. He was small and fast enough, but still an outcast. And who was to blame if not himself?

It was a mess, really. Despite the king's confidence in public, there was a nagging anxiety in his throat whenever he returned. Holding on to the crumbling foundation of his power, Alyn watched Maven and Elara all too much.

Strive to impress. Whatever the cost. _  
_

It tasted wrong, that whatever, like ash and blood, like death and failure.

The nobles were as familiar with the crumbling foundation as Alyn, maybe even more. There were empty promises and words, everything he detested because he could feel their lies.

It would have been so easy, leaning forth, lips close to the king's ear. They are liars, this one is not honest, that one is vulnerable...People would learn to fear him, no more names, no more hidden laughter, and insults.

But he was better than that. He wouldn't expose people if not necessary. He dared to think of himself better than that. Of course, sometimes, when they met, the king still asked. And Alyn, grinding his teeth, answered, reluctant.

There was anger where fear had once resided, and he was sure it was because of his constant connection to the king. I could make you bow to my feet. You should be careful.

He tried to be good, to be patient, but he was no saint. Sometimes it swallowed him whole. It was not unlike the flames that Maven was able to stir from his hands. It was burning hot and searing, and it made Alyn tremble and left him sweating, shaking hands and fluttering nerves. He was needed, and he complied. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't like the love Maven had held for Thomas. And it wasn't like the need, the obsession, that Maven Calore held for Mare Barrow. But Alyn couldn't ask for the king to love him. As long as the tiniest shard if Maven's soul cared, it had to be enough.

_You could force him._

The thought rose from the deepest darkness in his mind, where the unwelcome doubts and the hurt resided.

_You want to be loved, Alyn, think about it. He welcomes your influence. You could grab all that he doesn't want and replace it with a want. He wouldn't know why. But he would love you. He would beg you. He would come to you. And only you._

It was a disgusting thought. He would be worse than Elara ever had been if he had even considered it.

He struggled to come to a conclusion, to why he even had let his mind wander there.

It was wrong. He knew how wrong. Torturer Velx had too much experience imprinting feelings into souls. But the tattered lord had promised to help. And the little boy, a faint memory, had never wanted anything else.

He had enough guilt on his shoulders as it were. He could never willingly cripple someone. And especially not someone he considered the only steady thing in his existence.

The governor of Lencasser welcomed the king in a pompous manner, all strive and glory, and the king accepted graciously. Taking it all, grasping to hold steady, there was no better way to show strength than this. Glorious, young and tragic. The picture was painted with the finest brush. His mother hovered close, as was Samos. The tip of the arrow piercing through any resistance or weakness.

Alyn Velx stood in the distance, watching, waiting. Eyes everywhere. Something was very wrong. But he couldn't say what. It was an uneasy feeling seeping through his outstretched feelers. Weak on his feet, he walked slowly, pretending to look at the houses.

A breath on his neck, telling him to be careful. It was nothing more. Just his stomach turning. Someone was very, very hateful.

When he looked around, he couldn't pinpoint where the uneasy feeling came from. Too many people. Crowds were his weakness. He looked at the faces. Faces like the ones he had shown Maven, pointing at their innocence.

He was a thin man, gaunt and hollow, that governor, and reminded Alyn of his warden in the cells. Maybe they were related. Maybe it was just coincidence. Lencasser was not a cell, that much was sure. But maybe cities were just prisons in other, bigger dimensions. At least for starving and poor people. And he wouldn't dare to think of the dark curling clouds of smoke over other places he had seen out of the window. Places that spoke of dread, of isolation. Places that enabled Alyn to turn on a switch and light a lamp, that enabled the cameras following him.

As the gaunt man welcomed them, a younger woman stood close by. A daughter, or a wife?

He looked at their willowy silhouettes, the curve of their noses. Too similar not to be related.

Something itching on his spine. There was the usual bows, the usual politeness, the usual manners.

It rubbed him the wrong way, today. It wasn't like everyone in the crowd was roaring angrily. No, no...it wasn't a mob. It was tension. Tension building somewhere in single minds watching him as he watched them.

Wincing, he pressed on, inhaling the cold air, face half hidden behind his crimson scarf.

The feeling stayed the whole walk. Alyn concentrated his eyes on the whole entourage. He knew some names. Rhombos, Samos, Blonos...Haven.

He tried to concentrate on what he knew about all of them, starting easy, on Elane.

_Kind, clever, quiet. Not to underestimate. But never to fear._

He counted the things he knew, the things he had noticed, and things he had felt.

_She has an affair, it's that flaring in her belly when I am around her._

_Oh, that one. He hates me. And he wonders. But he is quite compliant_ to _Elara. There is worship when she acknowledges his existence. Could be a good, or a very, very bad thing._

It relaxed him, only a little bit, but enough to latch onto Maven again, only a few feet away.

The marching had become something he almost enjoyed. He didn't dare to set foot in a city again after the incident with the birds, so it was his only chance to see more of the places they visited.

When snowflakes started to whirl down, thick like a storm of feathers, he stared at them, fondly.

He caught a glimpse of blue eyes, freckled with silver, staring back, and smiled behind his scarf when their gazes locked through the flurry of white. He shivered, but he wished to stay and never let go.

* * *

 

Shaking off the snow from his coat, the king had ended his exchange with the gaunt man. Now, in the safety of walls and high gates, there was buzzing busyness. Now it was all the piercing tip of the arrow. Though Samos had left, Elara, of course, stayed. Where would they both be if not here? She didn't pay him attention. Why would she? He was unworthy of it. And probably less fun now that he wasn't her subjugate to bully anymore. Children grow up, he thought. As much as you scared me as a child, as much as your image was that of an unbeatable figure, and as much as I know you could make me do the worst things. My hatred for you has overcome my fear.

At least that was what he told himself. He couldn't deny her presence was still mighty and demanding. And he knew neither him or her son would ever be free from it.

Now, looking clean and fresh, not one hair out of place, she towered close to her son.

Important matters, Alyn was sure. He retreated to a spot close by the window, still in his dripping wet boots and coat, destroying the expensive carpet of the room, leaving ugly puddles of water where he stopped and waited.

"If you want to stay, " the king said. "Get out of that coat. You were sick already."

He didn't say the obvious. Healthy you are more worth than sick.

And it was very well true.

He hated to leave them. But little else was what could be done.

Elaras eyes followed him through the room. "Escort our tattered lord to his chambers. Make sure he looks presentable."

Presentable? Was she about to parade him around?

No. She was just vain. She wanted to make sure the decoration fit her dress.

With a nod, he retreated, and what else was he to do when armed and trained men escorted him?

A nice house, as usual. A summer palace, but not as favored or big as the one he knew so well from venturing into it the past month. Alyn had heard the king complain. Too old, too small, a dusty ruin, a remnant, but he valued the old stone walls and howling windows. Old houses had character.

A gift a king had made his lover. Gifting someone a mansion? He didn't know much about love, except all the secondhand experiences, but wasn't that too much?

If not, he mused, courting would be a problem.

Elara's ice was colder than the snow when she brushed past Alyn when he returned, dried and warm.

Soon enough, her eyes said. Enjoy your time.

It stung, like a thorn stuck in his foot. A thorn he could never get rid off.

"Something is very wrong in this place," Alyn whispered, leaning over to the king's ear like he had imagined many times, fantasizing about revenge.

There was tension in the way the king held his head and Alyn could feel the knots beyond the muscles, deep inside his soul.

But there was also something else when he turned, only slightly, a flare of something warm, something Alyn couldn't catch before it was gone again.

Was that for me? He wondered. It had felt genuine. Almost gentle.

"Be careful," Alyn whispered.

"I am aware of some minor discontent in the area." Maven said."Hence the increased security. But I appreciate your concern."

The way the king looked down on him, and the way their bodies brushed held something very intimate. Alyn retreated. If someone watched them, it only fueled the rumors.

* * *

Sometimes being an outcast wasn't half bad, Alyn thought, leaning against a pillar, half hidden but in a very fortunate position.

Mingling was nothing he wanted to do, no friendly conversations, no smiles and small talk.

And no one would have asked. He watched instead, in safety. It wasn't a grand feast like the ball. The room was smaller as well. There was still music, hidden away in an alcove, silent but talented musicians. He caught a glimpse here and there, a hand, or the handle of an instrument.

Sipping on his glass, shamelessly loitering, he listened. The music was a faint sweet background noise, perfectly blended, and hauntingly beautiful. Alyn was not a musician, but he felt the passion and concentration in which the musicians played, and was impressed and certainly enjoying their efforts. The tune was upbeat, optimistic, but unobtrusive, not without elegance as a violin played a high note, echoing down.

It was still uncomfortable being in close proximity to so many people all excited, frightened, nervous, it made him shift more often, trying to control a nervous fidgeting need.

Drinking helped.

As someone with barely a tolerance, it was easy to get drunk. The pillar was as supportive as it was a good hiding spot. Curled in marble, the floor was shining, reflecting faces plastered with fake smiles. Soles of soft shoes and high heels clattered over it. The clothing, of course, was just as beautiful as the music and the interior. The silk was rustling in layers of brilliant colors. There was a lot of blue, black and crimson, for sure adapted to impress the king or his mother, or maybe just a new fashion on the court. Some wore the colors of their houses. A very few, very bold hat tried to emulate metal clad Evangeline. But none looked as bright in silver grey as her, radiant and grim, with very sharp teeth showing when she smiled.

He felt downright shabby in comparison to any of them. Even if the king had made sure he didn't stick out too much in a new pair of clothes that fit him better. 

Brilliant green , with the tiniest splotches of crimson, Alyn had noticed the look Elane had given him when he entered, hidden behind another chattering pair of older women.

He had felt her amusement and encouragement, but she was occupied, and he wouldn't dare to try and steal her away. Not now especially, with wolf grin Samos so close.

 _You deserve every bit of attention._ She was downright breathtaking. Even to someone that was as oblivious as Alyn, it was more than recognizable. Clad in shadows, all black, red curls shining, she was graceful.

The gaunt governor and his daughter were of course in the crowd, as hosts and gracious generous. His daughter wore no brilliant color and barely jewelry. Her dress was not shimmering. It looked almost plain. A dirty red, like smeared blood, it unsettled Alyn. She was very quiet. Her mind was calm and concentrated. He watched her flowing hair when she turned away. Myra was her name.

And then, of course, there were the two most important people in the room. Elara wore the most monstrous dress he had ever seen, with feathers attached.

 _Those poor birds. May they never know what they were slaughtered for._ He downed the rest of his glass to keep from laughing. He was sure she knew what he thought. The drinking made him bold.

The king didn't look much different from other days for Alyn. Only more straight, even more confident, and even more regal. He was unmoving like a stone. When Alyn brought himself to latch onto his feelings, he found the usual anxiety that made his throat dry.

_You are safe, your Grace. I promise._

He shared his drunken amusement, his determination.

If not for the obvious crowd around the two of them, Alyn may have tried to get closer. So he stayed, just so he could keep to look.

He watched the flocks of people moving through the room. They were like birds, picking up the attention, restless wandering to warmer spots. Careful or Elara picks you for her next dress, Alyn mused fpr himself. Ah, Alyn thought, looking at the crystal glass in his hand, the game, where rich people believe to better but are actually just better DRESSED than the rest.

The warm lights flickered for a second and he thought about the explosion on the ball, the screaming, and the panic.

More drinking, he decided.

When he turned around, keeping an eye out for a servant, he saw Myra in brown dried blood, approaching him.

She felt still calm. But there was something else now. She was thinking, hard.

"Are you hiding from someone in particular?" She asked, half smiling.

He huffed. "The world will do, Lady-"

"Just Myra, please." She grabbed two glasses of a plate, furrowing her brow.

"Then it's just Alyn for you. I am glad we leave formalities behind."

"Look at them."She said, handing him one of the glasses. "Look how they bend and fawn at their feet."

So forward, he thought, looking around. "Words like that, in a place like this?"

"People know I detest the whole charade," she shrugged. Her cheeks were flushed silver. Very much more drunk than him. "And they also know my father will probably lock me away for the rest of my life since he can't find a suitable match."

There was fire. He admired fire. Alyn smiled at her.

"I find it quite lovely. If you aren't forced to participate, at least."

"And may I ask why that is?" Myra lifted the glass to her mouth. She wore a single ring on her left hand, very simple silver with a blue stone.

"I am not well liked." He decided to say. "And if you are not popular and don't strive to be, people tend to ignore you."

"Ah."She leaned in much too close for Alyn's comfort. But drunk people never know when to stop. He let her be. She was rather pleasant. More pleasant than most strangers. "See, my father says you are sleeping with the king. Is that true?"

"I am so glad you asked," Alyn said, trying to hide the frustration behind sarcasm. "We are, in fact, not. Rumours, you know how they are."

"Good to know." He felt her curiosity and nervous cackling amusement as she relaxed a bit. "I guess. I am being rude, aren't I?"

"Better rude questions than talking about weather, or shoes. " He chuckled again, nervous and excited as he let the crowd rush through him. "I was told I am no good at small talk."

They watched the crowd together. It wasn't as bright and loud as the ball. Which was, considering the fact there was still supposed to be mourning, a gesture of respect.

But a festivity was still a festivity.

"I saw him in broadcasts and on pictures," Myra said, suddenly not giddy but almost sad. "The king. You are part of his court, and you are an outcast, like me. So please, tell me. Is he a good man?"

Alyn pondered. He looked over to the king, surrounded and talking. Feeling and easing his knots of tension, his need, the everlasting one he could never sate. _Never enough._

He thought of the tears, soaking his shirt, a soul-crushing hug, a bloody hand. Of secrets and promises, he would keep, unbowed.

"He can be. He will be." Alyn was lost, driven by some sort of sentimental, bittersweet sadness he couldn't shake off.

Maybe drinking was no wise idea after all.

"And there is my father," she sighed. "Probably about to sent me into a convent after the public shame I brought over us."

Following her concerned gaze, he saw the gaunt man that reminded him of his jailer so much. "He is more worried than mad," Alyn assured her.

Myra watched him with interest before she hurried into the direction of her father.

He watched the talks for a while longer, now more sad than before. His head started pounding, very subtle and slower than a usual migraine. Keeping an eye on everything proved impossible.

He needed fresh air.

Stepping out of the crowded hall, no one bothered to stop him.

Between marble, steel and carpets, Alyn paused, breathing deep. Something caught his attention, sharpened his senses through the daze of his drunken haze. Something was awfully,awfully wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choos drew Zella! You can see the picture at chapter 2 :))


	8. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know I promised more descriptions, but i had to edit this gibberish 6 k into something readable. I will try in the future, though.

_Physically, you are the weakest thing I have ever witnessed._ He remembered the taxing look, the sharp cold eyes. _But you are not here to be a strong arm, and as long as you know you are a weak little shit, you still have a chance. It's in your head. That evil little brain of yours can make a grown man scream in pain before he even has the chance to land a hit._

The warden had stood perched on the table, watching the man with the cold face talk.

_I have seen boys like you die like flies. But none of them could defend themselves like you could. Make them scream. Wish them everything you want the world to endure for pushing you into this shithole._

Alyn Velx had sat on the chair, not saying a word. Staring at the dried silver blood on his body, feeling a pain from a wound that had stopped bleeding.

 _Next time someone attacks you, you don't let them,_ the cold-eyed man sat. _And if you do, we don't get a healer. Get your head straight._

 _What does it matter anyway?_ Alyn had asked. _What do you care?_

 _You have value._ The warden said, frowning.

 _Value won't save you every time,_ the cold-eyed man spat. Better learn quickly. _Or die in your self-pity, lordling._

He wasn't sure why he thought of the cold-eyed man, not now, that he was free and the other one dead. The freedom that held a sour taste to it.

No one had been gentle in prison. And the cold-eyed man was the least friendly of them all. But he remembered their agreement, forged between dry blood and sweat, in a room that held screeching people, silencing their screams.

It held no comfort, thinking of the calloused rough hands squeezing necks, explaining the pain, the lectures about needles and lies. As much as the cold-eyed man had been cruel, he had been efficient, and he had made Alyn Velx just the same. At the end, working alongside, listening, the screams didn't haunt his days. He shut them off until night came. At night, no one could help the shivering mess he was, crying and breathing into his blankets, curling up. He hardened. If only for some time, he could pretend. He told himself he became stronger. All that happened, as he could see clearly now, was the shell that hardened, the pain harbored inside like a precious jewel. A jail needs a jailer. A demon needs a hell to live in.

Behind the excuses he built up, he became good at his work. He rolled up his sleeves and stepped into the room, and the cold-faced man lurked, waiting, sometimes stained with blood, sometimes clean his nails. His conscience buried the person strapped to the chair and he became their worst nightmare or their best friend.

The warden was pleased. The cold-eyed man was too. He was pleased with his work, and sometimes, when they were alone, he was pleased with the comfort Alyn offered, not judging, but kneeling, listening.

The cold-eyed man never regretted, but Alyn did.

If he had been the weapon people wanted him to be, all could have been fine.

He had struggled too long. He had been reluctant to trust, or not to trust. He had struggled to keep up, and the kindness and caring, the generosity, the eagerness to repent, what did it do in a moment like this?

He couldn't afford to struggle now. That was why the cold-eyed man's words were stuck in the back of his head. No kindness, no friendship, but discipline, however cruel and mean. Like a bucket of cold water, cleansing his concerns suppressing the panic.

Alyn stumbled over his own feet, trying to make out where exactly the bad feeling was coming from. In the end, he was none the wiser, but still awfully tipsy and shaking. The cold air helped. Branches rustled on trees nearby, skeletal fingers outstretched. The light illuminated enough of the back and the garden to see the high iron gates, the fence, and the silhouettes of a guard circling, small lights blinking in the distance. A thousand eyes.

It looked silent and safe. Why was he so unsettled?

It came from the _inside_.

His eyes weren't working like they were supposed to, his feet were too slow. At least his mind was working half decent, albeit terrible sentimental.

There was only one person he knew to believe him because paranoia had eaten her heart. It left a bad taste in his mouth to stumble back in, straightened back, trying to concentrate hard.

Something turned his stomach as he stepped back inside the lights. It was like another world. A world where colors were as bright as false laughter. A world where words meant nothing and everything. They talk and talk, he thought, but not a word matches what they truly want.

He saw his own face on the polished floor, pale and hair tousled. Servants brushed by, and there was the feathery horror of Elaras dress. Somewhere in the crowd.

The unsettled feeling had grown into something else. It was despair, sprinkled on the saddest and angriest mind he had touched for a long time.

His flushed face and tousled hair drew some attention, but people dismissed it quickly when they recognized his face. The twirling, whirling lunatic, that never spoke to anyone. Lucky he had a pretty face, no?

He forced himself to stand straight, to walk slow. Drawing attention and losing his cool would do no good.

Alyn's head whipped around. But he couldn't see anyone.

Maybe that wasn't the right description. He saw too much.

He saw familiar faces. Faces he had walked by in the palace. There was one lady, always jealous of her friends. He saw Elane and another girl he dimly remembered. Iral, he thought, looking at her dark her and beautiful eyes. Her name was Sonya Iral. She had been present on some occasions, and sometimes she had accompanied her grandmother. That were intriguing meetings. The old woman had eyes so sharp they had seen through the mask he had worn. He knew awfully little about her, but he recognized, that he should have paid more attention to her. He had ignored faces for too long, so focused on Mare, on Julian, and the king, back then just prince. His disappointment had blinded him often.

There was still a fluttering excitement, and people enjoying the whole festivity, but for all the different reasons.

Stepping through the groups of people, the crowd, he didn't bother stopping. Sometimes he was greeted. He greeted back. Tried to give them the feeling his existence was not worth mentioning. In the back of his mind, the hatred boiled, as he tried to find the person responsible. It was hard, really, he wasn't good at working more than one mind at once. His palms were sweaty. He gripped his sleeves and moved on.

Elara's eyes were on him the moment he stepped along the invisible border they usually meticulously agreed on. He loathed her presence, but he didn't wait for an introduction and he didn't care for the talk she just had. How dare he? He felt their disgust, embarrassment, their amusement.

We need to talk, his mind screamed at her. If you are listening, it would be of your interest.

Of course, she was listening, he felt her claws in his head, like so many times before. But she ignored him. And she was pleased.

That was all she let him know before she cast him aside.

He had expected something else. There has to be another way, he thought, retreating.

A ringing in his ears, a sound louder than the voices or the music. A hand gripped his arm. When he looked up, red curls spilled over a dark dress, and he recognized Elane.

"Lord Velx, " she said, and after all the time spent together it sounded stilted out of her mouth. "You look rather sick."

She was worried. He was flattered.

"It's nothing." He lied, and her eyes narrowed slightly. Suspicion rose in her, but she did not ask.

"Well, your timing is impeccable." She stopped touching his arm. "I think the king was just about to start."

Start? Alyn furrowed his brow in confusion.

Between the servants and guests, guards had scattered, and he saw a red coat next to the gaunt governor.

Myra was nowhere to be found, Alyn wondered if her father had sent her home early because she was openly showing disdain.

"Despite all differences," The king said. "And despite the terrible tragedy brought upon our heads, upon myself, from people I had trusted-"

_Poor, poor soul._

As someone knowing the truth, Alyn Velx felt sick hearing the lies.

My king is a perfect liar, he thought, and so eloquently. He moved along the edges of the crowd, trying to ignore the pity and admiration.

He felt Maven's confidence, bathing in the attention like a plant that hadn't seen sunlight for too long.

The hateful mind was long gone. He couldn't find the pulsing desperation anymore.

"I will not rest until-"

Maven's voice was muffled in the back of Alyn's mind as he circled around. He knew the words all the same, the oaths, the promises.

_I am a man true to my word._

"A toast, " The gaunt governor said, through erupting applause.

A glass shattered, loud. And in the next moment, there were screams. A gasp went through the crowd.

Alyn whipped around. Between two dark-clad guards, he saw the governor on his hands, silver blood streaming out of his..face?

His eyes, Alyn noticed, gruesome, his eyes were bleeding, as was his nose. Silver blood dripped on plished stone, mirroring his face, deep sitting pain and, that wa sthe worst, surprise.

There was a panic again, a riot, as everyone remembered the last time someone had died at a ball, as the fire had erupted.

Everyone was shifting, nervous, except the king and his mother.

_You knew. You knew it would happen. You **LET** it happen._

Giving a speech about strength and cohesion just before escaping an attempted assassination.

He felt like a fool. No wonder he had been ignored and assured. Since his arrival, there had been something in the air. And Elara had probably known just as long. And despite the fact that it could have been stopped, it hadn't been. Because this was all they lived for, the sheming, the charade, oh, the drama. Indeed the best liars in the world.

He wondered how much was the kings doing.

It was a spectacle just as the day the old king had died, maybe not on the same big scale. Still impressive. People yelled about traitorous threads and poison, and Alyn was sure the king would declare his unbowing will despite the cowardly attempts to take his life.

Who knew if it really was poison, it could have been anything, as far as he was concerned. No expert on assasinations. Alyn stood still in the middle of gasping and watched the retreat, how people shun away in a room they had been laughing only a moment ago. Myra was still nowhere in sight, and he was glad , she didn't deserve her fathers last moments, not this crippled corpse on the floor, with blood building a puddle around it, seeping into his coat, and his little hair.

_I wouldn't want to tell her. Loosing family is the worst. However close or distant the bond._

There was an invisible barrier, to the spot where the corpse lay. The king and his mother had retreated, seemingly just as shaken as the rest. But all Alyn could feel was Elaras amusement and the way maven's mind circled around thoughts, concentrated.

Probably preparing his next speech, Alyn thought. I should listen better then.

Anger burned inside him. And shame. He felt betrayed. For what ever reason had he been brought along if not to prevent a thing like this? He was to watch, and to stay at the kings side. Not like this. It was all he detested.

_A fool, like always._

He doubled his steps, keeping up with guards in hurry was not easy. He felt sweaty and his hands curled to fists when he finally got hold of the king.

For the briefest of seconds, the king he had once considered his one and only friend stopped, staring at him, blocking the path.

Elara looked down at him with her usual mock. "My, tattered Lord," she stepped closer. "So bold."

He choose to not acknowledge her existence. It was downright impossible. But he managed to not look at her.

"If you had told me-" Was all Alyn said. _Fool, Fool,_ the voice in the back of his head screamed.

A muscle twitched slightly when the king's face and neck tensed, down to his shoulders. He didn't feel very guilty , but instead he felt _ashamed._ Like a child someone had caught stealing candy. "If I had told you, would you have kept that face straight?"

Alyn furrowed his brow in confusion and hurt.

"There is my answer." The king said, very sober.

In that moment, Alyn Velx wanted nothing more than scream and shout, kick something.

"You want to help? Go to Samos. Help her find the daughter."

The daughter?

Then Alyn realized.

_Look how they fawn and bend. I detest this charade. Is he a good man?_

_**Oh Myra, no no.** _

* * *

Elane Haven stood perched by the window, watching a very energized and angry Evangeline Samos barking commands at guards.

"What are you doing here?" Alyn asked, looking at her dark-clad form. She had chosen to wear a coat over the tight fitted dress.

"I could ask the same," Elane said. "You knew something was wrong, didn't you?"

"I came to find Myra. Maybe I can help."

Help her. Not let her get hurt.

"Elane says you can be more than pretty decoration." Evangeline looked over, not seeming very pleased with what she saw. He couldn't blame her. He was a mess, and now, after the drinking and running, he probably looked even worse.  
He also felt like he could vomit any moment. He chose not to tell her.

"I think I felt her desperation, she hid it very well during our talk, but later...not so much."

"I really don't care how. Find her."

She did not like him the slightest bit. But it was honest. She didn't hate him for something he was or could never be. She just...wasn't interested.

He wanted to laugh.

"If I find her," he dared to say. "You will not try to kill her. Let me talk to her."

"Are you on her side?" Evangeline asked, metal clad and grim.

"I am on no one's side but my own. And as that is," he took a deep breath. "I have a guilt and debt to repay."

He had stretched his feelers out many times, to find a familiar mind filled with hatred and anger, to calm and cool.

Now Myra was something different. He felt like a dog, unleashed, as he moved through the house. The place was shut down tight, she had to be here somewhere. It wasn't that hard to find her. It was all but easy to feel her sorrow and guilt.

The roof had prbably been searched before, but something drew him to it. He knew, if he had to hide, he would have chosen a different place. But that desperation didn't really want to hide. It wanted things to end, one way or another. She had killed her own father, in accident, he assumed. The wind was howling up here, stinging on his face. It gripped his clothes and ruffled his hair. He felt her before his eyes found her. Her dark red dress was torn at her sleeve, and there was silver blood staining the ripped cloth.

In the summer it would have been beautiful up here, with a sight to behold, over the city, on the garden. Now all he saw was darkness. Little lights in the distance.

"Myra," he said. The girl trembled. It wasn't the weather that shook her body. He could sense her desperation all too well.

Her hands were clasped around a small, metallic thing. She had the gun pointed at him, and he had no doubt, one shot would severely injure him if she pulled the trigger.

Myra was emotionally unstable, more than anything she was afraid. He was good at soothing fear, but her desperation could go off with a loud boom. A powder keg. He had never been used to defuse a bomb like this. But he would rather get shot than not try at all.

"Myra put down the gun, please!"

_**I am no danger, feel it, I am the most harmless thing. You are safe, sweet Myra, safe.** _

She sighed, seemingly confused. "I just wanted to make it better. This is all not fair."

No, Alyn thought. No, it's not. It was never fair. Nothing ever was.

He pressed harder, slowly creeping towards her, hands lifted, palms open, to show her his willingness. She let him, for now.

 _Put down the gun._ He prayed.

Elane was nowhere to be seen, but he felt Evangeline's wild and untempered energy.

"Please, I can talk her down," he said, not turning around, still slowly creeping over the roof. "Don't hurt her."

"I don't care if you hurt me!" Myra yelled.

Alyn pressed against her conscious hard.

She sobbed.

Almost, he almost had her. She dropped the gun, and Alyn exhaled.

"I can't back down now." That was all the girl said.

Myra's arms encircled Alyn, a grotesque imitation of an embrace. And now he noticed she didn't need a gun. Her strength was unnatural. Strong arm, he thought.

She's a wild animal, trapped in a corner. He needed her calm, but Samos was not going to back off. One more harsh move, Alyn knew, and this hurt creature would do something unpredictable.

He pressed against her whirling white fear as hard as he could, slowly entangling it. Samos made one more step.

It backfired. Of course. Instead of letting go, she let out a screeching sob, dragging him closer to the edge. It was a deep fall. He wouldn't survive. They would get crushed, scattered brains and broken limbs. His body trembled along hers.

"I am not going to let him go," Myra said, voice so close to breaking it cut deep in Alyn's heart.

Evangeline Samos scoffed slightly, showing her teeth. Wolf grin, Alyn had always called it. It was indeed vicious. "What do I care about the pampered paramour of the king? Don't you think I would be glad to see him gone?"

Alyn didn't know if he was scared or amused. A bluff, he was sure. If not...

"Come on, just kill him. He is no match. But I am." Her eyes promised something.

"I really appreciate your charm," Alyn said. "But I am sure we can all get out of this situation alive."

Samos was waiting, he felt her, circling, patient. He tried to get through to Myra again, calming her. Her hands around his neck were still shaking. Just a little, he thought. Let me work it out. I can save you.

She shifted, her arms closed so tight he gasped for air. She would break all his bones if he didn't act fast. Her mind buckled up under his touch. She was like a wild horse, so nervous and frightened his try to calm her washed over her. She stopped crushing him, at least.

"You'll torture me. I know the king does that. Kidnapping people. They disappear. Some die. They're tumbling on gallows with their tongues out right now down the square!"

What is she on about? Alyn thought. Then he remembered Elaras exchange behind closed doors. They are secured for now.

He wanted to ask her about it, but in that moment he saw a shadow in the back of his side.

Elane was fast, and Evangeline had waited for her. They worked well together, like to limbs, simply walking.

Metal flung forward, bending under Evangeline's will. At the moment the shards hit Myra, piercing through her shoulder, Elane's hands grabbed Alyn, flinging him around, away from the edge.

It was the only thing stopping him from falling. She felt soft and warm, holding him tight with force as he leaned forward, watching the girl stagger back.

Everything went awfully slow. Myra's eyes were big. Alyn struggled in Elane's grip. An outstretched hand, useless, as she twirled around herself like some sort of bizarre dancer. Then she fell. She didn't even scream.

"NO!" he yelled, breaking free from Elane. Stumbling two steps he looked down. Myra's body had hit the ground. Her arms were still outstretched, her head turned sideways. Blood in a puddle around her, seeping through her dirty red dress. Her left leg was bent in the most strange way.

She didn't move.

There was no pain. No more fear radiating from her.

She was simply gone.

* * *

He felt like a ghost, haunting, when he stepped over the doorstep.

"It's done, for now," Alyn said, voice hoarse, feeling a thousand years old.

"I know." The king without the crown said, and in the dim grey darkness, illuminated only by a small ray of light he looked very young, like the boy Alyn had once known. The prince he had watched reading.

"Then you heard what happened with Myra. I wish I did not find her."

"You did the right thing."

"Did I ?" Alyn whispered. "The right thing doesn't necessarily mean I did a GOOD thing. People confuse these two very often."

One side of the king's face lay in the shadows as he turned around. Alyn saw the corner of his mouth curl up. His mind felt as tired as Alyn's own, and bitterness was crawling through their connection. "Very true, I suppose. But decisions sometimes weight your life  against that of others. It's a balance, and if you tumble, it's the last time you wonder. So don't wonder. It was you or her. And I am rather pleased it's you."

Alyn breathed in, long and hitching.

Maybe he was just too tired to wonder, too tired to do anything. But he was drawn helplessly to the warmth of another being."Can I stay here?" He whispered.

He felt a hand brush against his arm, for the briefest of moments. "Where else would you go?"

The chair was not the most comfortable place, but he had worse, and he welcomed the chance to just curl up into a tight ball at the table.  
It wasn't the first time he watched the king sleep, and he didn't wish to sleep for himself. He detested sleep. He listened to the breathing, concentrating on the blank slate that was the dreamless state of Maven's mind when his eyes found something on the table.

The picture wasn't very high quality, black and white, from a camera, Alyn supposed. He knew the face from wanted posters and screens, remembered it from a day in an arena. Alyn would have lied if he said he was surprised to find a picture of her.

He studied the thin line of her tightly pressed lips, her face, half hidden under shadows, her thin body, dark circled but determined eyes. Once again he wondered if Zella, the girl with the strong jaw and the challenging smile, had been just as strong.

Leaning his head against the cold table, he closed his eyes and forced himself into resting.

He wasn't calm for long. The faces came to him like they always did. They would always find him. He couldn't escape them. Hazy images, screaming and crying, blood and hurt. They were pain instilled in ashes, dead and burned. They begged they wished him to hell. Myra's face was the newest addition to the cabinet of horrors. Her outstretched arms, her wide opened eyes, and the blood, silver shimmering in the darkness.

He awoke trembling, almost falling down the chair. Tears stained his face, and his hands were shaking as he fought the panic.

Whoever had said the dead can't hurt you anymore had been utterly wrong.

His eyes found the image on the desk again. He concentrated hard.

Hello again, Miss Barrow, Alyn thought, staring at the grainy lines of the picture, wondering what she was doing. Was she sleeping, in a bed, or hidden away somewhere? Was she alone?

Questions he supposed would never be answered.

Sheets rustled behind him, and when he turned his head, he found Maven staring at him, half asleep, dark hair tangled.

"Did I wake you?" Alyn asked, taking his time. His mouth formed the words, almost in disdain, so hard, like his tongue was glued to his throat.

"I thought I heard you crying." The king looked at him, eyes narrowed.

"I am sorry." Alyn breathed in deep. "I didn't mean to disturb your sleep."

Maven huffed, hand in his hair as he leaned his head on his arm, half sitting.

"I imagine the chair is not very comfortable." His hand patted the empty space of the mattress.

In any other moment, Alyn would have declined, politely. Now, with the faces still present, he didn't. He slipped off the chair quietly, kicking off his boots, curling on the soft fabric of the pillows and blankets.

The half-conscious mind welcomed his shaky fear with a tinge of care, and it was like a fire warming his soul.

"I'm sorry," Alyn repeated. There was enough space for them not to touch, but he still felt the warmth.

"No need." Maven said, pulling the blanket back over Alyn. His shaking hands clenched around the blanket, inhaling deep. Everything smelled of the king, a familiar scent. It calmed him. Breathing deep, the panic retreated back to his dreams, slowly, ever so slowly.

"I wonder sometimes, " The king whispered. "If I could dream, what would these dreams be made off?"

"You had terrible nightmares when we first met," Alyn whispered back, turning his head, still curled up, legs on his body, making himself as small as he could.

" As far a memory as a child remembering a biting dog." A warm hand touched him in the grey darkness. The hand waited, patient, almost gentle, as fingers let go of a blanket only to tangle with fingers.

I was right, Alyn thought. You can be kind.

"Go back to sleep," Alyn whispered, pressing the fingers. "I can't make your dream. But I will guard you."

"You are always." Maven's voice was a whisper carried through silken cloth and warm bodies, shifting. "Why is that? Why are you the most loyal person I ever met?"

Alyn closed his eyes, not willing to say anything.

"I will ask again." Maven promised. "I expect you to answer."

He kept his eyes shut for a long time. The breath next to him went shallow again as the king returned to his sleep, the fingers that held his went limp.

If I could turn back time, Alyn wondered, looking over at the sleeping face. Would I? He had done so much wrong, he would never be able to make it up. He tried, somehow, spirits knew he tried. He didn't know if it was worth anything, this petty fails to warp a mind one had created. He could never turn back to the prisoners, he could never turn back to his sister. For what it was worth. A last glance through time, to see her face? If he could save her? If he got to undo all of it, turn it into nothingness, would he do it?

Turn back time and lock his younger self in the cell to rot. Or hide the key to the chamber in his house and never let that boy set foot in the snake pit.

When Maven stirred slightly in his dreamless sleep, Alyn abandoned the thought.

A world without me would be better, he thought. But a world in which I am not knowing him wouldn't be worth it.

A hollow, aching, a longing he knew all too well, and a pain squeezing the air out of his lungs.

He should have just admitted it. Admitted it and moved on.

And what a scary thought that was. To admit the most steady, the heaviest, the most beautiful thing lay before his feet and he just had to pick it up. Only to get it crushed.

If he picked it up, would it destroy him? The seething heat had already gripped his heart. What would admitting change? Nothing. Avoiding a word held no meaning if you were painfully an aware of the truth, of the nature of feelings. It had always been there, before Mare Barrow, before his time in prison, even before Thomas had died.

_Why, you ask, your Grace?_

" Because I love you." He dared to say, words barely a breath. It pulled a weight off his shoulders, tasting the words, not only thinking them. It made him smile.

And it hurt. If he had ripped his heart out of his chest and put it on the table, next to the image of Mare Barrow, it wouldn't have hurt more than now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'(


	9. Vanquished innocence, Deadly Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm is approaching, and dreams and reality merge in Alyn's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who has writer's block? But don't worry, my Beta is pulling me out of the dirt. The most amazing being, and unearthly patient and fast working.

In the all-embracing eternity of darkness, he was small and cold. The body he fit in was meaningless, and the souls crying out for help were beacons of lights, too bright and screeching. Even in his sleep, he was not safe from them. They called for an answer, and he could give it to them. But he didn't want to. In the darkness of sleep and feverish dreams, his mother came to him. Her long hair was flowing free on her back, thick brown curls, ringlets dancing around her waist, strands brushing her brow and cheeks as she leaned down to pick him up. He felt young again, and her arms were rescue. They were not the distress beacons, they were a lighthouse. A safe harbor. She smelled of lilac, perfume soft and sweet, like her skin. Her skin was warm and her hands were tender as he curled against her form, feeling his hand tangling in her hair, running through it. His mother was gentle. He couldn't remember her face, not really, but his dream made it look like eerie familiar, like the picture of a girl called Zella, with eyes green, freckled with soft spots of amber and earth.  
  
_I miss you, I wish I had known you better._  
  
His mother just smiled. That smile, it must have been the most precious thing. A smile to appease the hard nature of his father, to calm the worrying of his uncle. A smile that shone for her son. A smile her daughter would never witness. She held tight and he relaxed, breathing in the sweet smell of flowers.  
  
In this dream, Alyn's mother was silent, but he faintly remembered she had sung to him. A soft melodious tune to calm his mind and worries, to lessen the fear. A tune carrying him to the land of sleep.  
  
If only you had lived, Alyn wondered, we would have been happy. You were all that was good for father. Why couldn't you live?  
  
His mother did not answer, she leaned forward, pressing lips against his brow, and the warmth of her kiss spread through his soul.  
  
He closed his eyes, taking a breath again. The lilac was gone, rotten away to something so excruciating sweet and sour it made him gag. Even in his hazy mind, he could recognize the saccharine fragrance that constantly haunted him.  
  
When he opened his eyes, he stood in his chamber, the very one he had spent most of his life in, and his mother was gone.  
  
In her place, Elara Merandus was clutching him, and the warmth was replaced by cold terror, making his blood freeze and his breath hitch.  
  
Her hands moved in an imitation of a pat, her elongated and slender fingers pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. It was not the touch of a mother but of a person rewarding a dog. Somehow, the mere action induced a fresh wave of fear in him. He could not make sense of what compelled her to visit him in such a manner. He wondered idly if she had taken the habit to do so frequently. The idea disturbed him, but not as much as another train of thought. Did she stroke Maven in the same way? With cloying warmth and dubious intentions?  
  
Alyn Velx was frozen in place, staring up at her tentatively.  
  
She was dressed in brilliant blue, hair affixing in a braided knot, gleaming with sapphire and moonstone. She was never without them, always the picture of a composed lady. And yet...  
  
She was still the nightmare of his childhood, complete with her cold hands, and frigid soul.  
  
He felt her mind, shutting tight around his thoughts, like a bear trap snapping shut. He was only a prey to her, and a weak one at that. The rising paranoia in him could not be placated, crawling in his insides.  
  
"My little monster," she said, and her voice was enough to send a sense of dread through his small chest. Her voice was devoid of compassion, eyes glinting in the dark, observing him with an amused smile.  
  
He flinched away from her form. In the chamber, the small light flickered to life. Her shadow was large, falling over the wooden panels of the wall, tainting his chamber.  
  
He couldn't escape from her grasp. He tried to no avail. She watched as he moved to the door with urgency and desperation. His hands trembled, pushing and pulling. It didn't budge, didn't move at all. For a moment, he wondered if this was only a horrible nightmare, concocted by his guilty conscious. But his imagination could not have imagined such a scene, could not have rendered him so useless.  
  
"Obey." Her voice said, inside his mind, spreading around him. Her lips moved, but no sound came out of them. He complied, it was the only thing he knew now.  
  
The shadow looming over the wall grew larger and larger. It made him feel small, inadequate and unworthy in her presence.  
  
Something scratched on the panels, wood screeching under the sound of claws or nails.  
  
_You'll destroy yourself._  
  
_Know your place._  
  
Her voice diminished, as his frame became less tense, like a docile animal in need of a reprimand.  
  
Still, the eternity of darkness returned. He heard his sister's laugh, from behind the walls, and the screams returned, more real and concrete than ever.  
  
_Tattered Lord, ever so bold._  
  
_Know your place._  
  
There was no escape from her voice, from her eyes, and her knowing smile.  
  
With an unrecognizable scream, he sat up on the bed, finally awake. It had been a dream after all...He had not known what horrors his mind was capable of bringing to life, it seemed. It should not have surprised him, but the realization still upset him.  
  
It took him a moment to realize to gather his bearings, recognize where he was and what had transpired.  
  
His brain struggled with the simple information, of processing what his mind tried to communicate. One step after another was the best method in such situations. It was like this everytime the panic held him, seeped into his very being.  
  
I visited the king's chamber. I was permitted guards said my arrival was expected. I went to his bedroom. Maven let me stay, let me remain at his side. I was in the chair until...  
  
He remembered now. He remembered the warmth of a hand, the jealousy, and envy for a photograph, and the pain three simple words had brought.  
  
In daylight, the bed was even larger, more so since he was the only one in it. It confined him, surrounded him with a sense of loneliness. Grey clouds made the sunlight dim. Perhaps it would rain. A pile of silken sheets and pillows were crumbled around him, like a nest someone had abandoned. Maven was nowhere to be seen, likely having left to attend to his duties. It was not as if Alyn mattered in his schemes at court, not unless one needed to be persuaded. Breathing slowly, Alyn rose from the bed.  
  
The finely crafted bed posts were of the same mahogany wood as the small table and the chair that were carefully selected and furnished. It indicated of absolutely nothing of who possessed this chamber, beside their affluent status. He frowned, finally at his feet. The very chair he had been sitting on was moved, and the desk had been used too. The picture of Mare Barrow he had viewed and touched was gone, the few papers and possessions neatly stacked and organized now. His boots stood by the chair. He slipped the dark leather over his feet, unsure of the time. Two doors led out of the bedroom. He knew the door in front of him, he had stepped through it the night before. Alyn considered leaving as silent as possible, to not gather more attention than needed. He did not wish for any sentinels to relay his presence to the queen, who would surely not approve. Nor did he want to hear any more gossip than the present.  
  
That was the precise moment he heard the voices. Muffled through the walls, they spoke softly. He recognized the king, and when he allowed his ability to encroach through the wall, he felt the touch of a familiar presence. A deep maelstrom of loathing possessed him for a second, and a part of Alyn was too ready to drown in the bitter pool of hatred and anger, to lose his sadness and flow along in the bittersweet current of animosity and sorrow. But he had himself under control, for now, and shared all the virtue his soul had left. His knuckles brushed the door slightly, but in the same moment, an assertive voice already commanded him in.  
  
When he pulled the handle, stepping inside, he saw the king in front of a mounted mirror, tugging at one of his sleeves with apathetic energy.  
  
Cape and crown beside him, ready to get dressed and dance along the court, his eyes found Alyn in the large and concave mirror, stopping for a slight moment. A terse silent reigned, as Alyn moved to glance at his back. His neck was taut with uneasiness and agitation.  
  
On a chesterfield chair beside the mirror, dressed in simple, almost military trousers and a cape rivaling her son's, Elara Merandus tilted her head ever so slightly. She was adorned with blue and black colors, of her respective house and her deceased spouse.  
  
Cold sweat formed on Alyn's nape and his palms. The retracting images of the dream were still there, taunting him as he looked back at her. He stood rigid and apprehensive, unsure of what to say or how to explain himself.  
  
Sticking out his chin, holding his head as high as possible, he tried to push those frightening images away. He was not a child anymore. Far from it, truly. And she looked immensely old compared to the dream version.  
  
"The pet has awoken." She stated, one side of her lips curling into a smile that was frighteningly similar to the one in his nightmare. He fought the need to shiver. "And judging by the smell, it needs a bath." Her nose flared, one hand rising from its resting position.  
  
He didn't bow or budge before her, feeling nausea and revulsion crawling up his spine. She did not deserve his respect or reverence. _Now that you mention it, your majesty, I strangely feel the need to scrub myself clean since I entered the room._ He didn't possess the courage to say the words to her face, but if she heard him thinking of the words nonetheless. "A pleasure, as always," He gave her another glare, refraining from outright frowning. "I thought you were occupied since last night's tragedy."  
  
He had witnessed a man choking on his own blood last night. He couldn't save that man's daughter from breaking her neck and cracking her skull open. She was reigning, and now she had returned in his dreams and rummaged through his head. But she wasn't the most terrifying being in his head anymore.  
  
She was still smiling, but clearly not amused with his behavior. "If anyone knows about a tragedy, it would be you, my little lord. I heard you found the girl, only to get her killed in a terrible accident."  
  
He thought about his dream again, the hand rewarding a mere, obedient dog. Her voice was belittling. The perspiration on his neck was still there, but there was no more fear, only deep-rooted hatred that found a home in him.  
  
Like always in these endless talks, dancing around each other, when both knew they detested each other, Maven watched cautiously. Alyn wouldn't have asked for his assistance. He wouldn't have dared. Once, long before Thomas and the prison, he had made the attempt, but there was too much binding and holding. And despite her terrible, atrocious deeds, she was still his mother. It wasn't unlike his own relationship with his father. Despite the fact he had dragged a child into the pit of venom, caging and abusing it, he did not entirely despise his father. Despite how he was used for his father's gain, to climb up the social ladder, Alyn couldn't bring himself to stop. To stop trying. Trying to understand, trying to search for something good and redeemable about that sour man.  
  
He understood the reluctance to take a side, but he did not feel the same. He hated her with every fiber of his being. Even more so after they had ignored each other's presence the last few weeks. We were only children, he thought. And you were supposed to care. I guess in your own twisted way you did. But that wasn't enough. Far from it. It made me your tool. Your accomplice.  
  
A pale hand stopped him at his tracks, preventing the argument from escalating further. Blue eyes met his gaze in the mirror again, and Alyn bit his lip hard.  
  
"That's enough," Maven said curtly. When his eyes met his mother's, she huffed out a small laugh for his sake.  
  
"Careful, my dear son, or you'll stumble over his leash." She stood up, her eyes settling on her son."You hold his leash very loose. And our precious Lord Velx does not know what to do with so much freedom."  
  
"Maybe I know too well," Alyn whispered.

Her eyes could have seen right through him. "You are blissfully ignorant as always."  
  
His hands forming fists were trembling now, and the anger and hatred he felt were just his own for once. He sighed, attempting to gather his composure. The queen would not accept such behavior, would punish him for his audacity and insolence. He remembered faintly of what had occurred to the Skonos healer, Sara, who braved punishment to speak against Elara. She had her tongue cut off in return for her defiance.  
  
"I said enough, Alyn." Maven's voice was deadly sharp and it cut through any remark he was about to comment. "I'll be ready shortly, mother. Please give us a moment."  
  
"Teach him some manners, will you? " Elara gave her son a last look, a displeased expression gracing her elegant features. "Maybe some new tricks too, while you are at it. Old pets do tend to get boring."  
  
Her boots made clicking sounds in the silent room. Then she was gone, slithering through the door in a graceful stride, leaving them alone in each other's company. Alyn could barely contain the anger, worrying the soft flesh on his lip, a small angry sound escaping his throat.  
  
Since the night the rockets hit the abandoned city and the vase smashed against the wall, his anger was growing more vocal, alongside his frustration. He noticed the changes all too well, and it worried him. Each incident haunted him nowadays, bringing him close to the precipice of his breaking point. Never forget, never forgive, the voices in his head said. And soon, show them. Show them what you are capable of. He could rid of them all if he was careful. They would be the ones having to obey him. Even dogs bite the hand of ungrateful masters.  
  
"Calm down." Maven's voice said, interrupting his train of thought. He was unimpressed by Alyn's fit, and not having any of it so early in the morning. Alyn held tight to that determination, it grounded him, pushed back the anger to an acceptable level. "Fighting with my mother will do you no good. I thought you had finally learned that after all these years."

"Maybe not," Alyn whispered.  
  
He looked at them, both in the mirror, their pale faces and dark hair. That was all they had in common. He was smaller, still, by a head. Where Maven was lean and slender, taking after his mother as he did in all things, Alyn was short and thin. He was not as gaunt as he was in the past, although he was still scrawny in many ways.  
  
His bitten nails, unkempt and matted hair told the story of someone not caring much, despite the quality of his disheveled clothes. He did not thrive in the court, where appearances and pleasantries mattered most.  
  
In comparison, the king looked like someone had stripped him out of an egg. Dark metal rested along his brow, molten flames and dark shadows, as he put his crown on his head. Despite the immaculate styling of his hair, some of it still remained unruly, tendrils of hair set apart from the crown set upon his head. There were some occasions in the past where it threatened to slip, too large on him, as if it sensed the owner was undeserving. Maven tailored it to fit after many days of frustration.  
  
The circles under their eyes told of people in dire need of rest, despite their young age. In case of Alyn, it added only to his appearance, and not in a complementing way. _What are we turning into?_  
  
He thought of a hand clenching his, of a voice whispering, _never show any weakness_. He wasn't the only one told so, by the looks of it. The king followed his gaze. He frowned at their reflection in the mirror. Alyn could empathize.  
  
"Are you done now, Lord Velx?"

"I am, Your Majesty. Excuse the inconvenience. About what happened yesterday-"  
  
Another dismissal wave, another moment of retreating from the uncomfortable topic of conversation. Maven was becoming better at avoiding him.  
  
"You should go change. People will notice if you leave my chamber like this."  
  
Like this. The connotation would have made him blush, if not for the situation they were both in.  
  
Alyn chuckled lightly. "Oh, don't remind me of the rumors I have to get through. Can you believe people assume I am exploiting your graciousness and sleeping with you?"  
  
"Technically," Maven remarked with nonchalance, fastening a loose string on his cape. "You are. In my bed, even."  
  
He thought of the warm feeling in his stomach around courtiers who exchanged intimate touches and felt very uncomfortable abruptly. "I wouldn't dare to assume that makes the rumors true. Especially not when I have never kissed anyone, nor have I ever gone further."  
  
"People enjoy lies and gossiping amongst themselves, they revel in it. It's amusing. And rather simple. I thought you would have been familiar with the concept after your years at the court. You've never kissed someone? Ever? I can't believe that."He could feel Maven's eyes settling on his face, an indecipherable emotion etched into his regal features. He still continued on with his preparations, with an almost indifferent air.  
"Because I am so handsome?" Alyn shuffled, uncomfortable with the subject and the questioning.

  
"I know you were sheltered, and you rarely got to see people outside the room. But there has to be someone."

  
"Ah, sheltered," Alyn leaned against the mirror. Cool smooth glass and metal brushed his skin, almost caressed it tenderly. It felt like a balm against his heated skin. "Is that what we call it now, Your Majesty?"

"You are certainly prickly today." Maven answered assuredly, seemingly amused by Alyn's reaction. "Just answer the question. Unless there is a particular reason you're bothered by it?"

He shook his head at the latter, not wanting to reveal too much so early. Maven didn't need more information to be handed out to him, to be used against Alyn. He was weak and dependant  as it was. "Yes, Your Majesty, of course." Alyn bowed his head, in almost mocking respect. But it was not to be taken seriously, as it seemed the conversation had shifted into friendly bantering and teasing. Or so he hoped. He could never tell what ulterior motives Maven had. His mind wandered off, thinking about the past events. Maven did not ever recount any intimate events with Thomas or Mare, so he was not sure if Maven himself had ever been kissed. But surely he must have, talking so assuredly and being so curious, even pushing the topic. He did not appeal to the ladies of the court as much as his older brother, but there had been some who were interested in Maven. He tilted his head, straining his neck to glance back at Maven, whose eyes glinted in the hard, unforgiving light of the room. Maven was still awaiting his answer.

  
"And I told you the truth. No one has dared to kiss me since the day I left home as a child. You could, of course, end my misery and do the deed yourself." He quipped, confident that Maven knew him too well to take it seriously. Some dormant part of him wished that it was taken seriously.  
"I regret beginning this conversation." Maven scoffed softly, not meeting his eyes. Instead, he played with the material of one of his flame maker bracelets, as if there was something riveting to be found in it.

"As I intended." Alyn's mouth curled into a soft smile, his indignation having calmed in some amount.

He remembered when they were young, they entertained themselves with chess, which young Maven had taken a liking to because he could best his older brother at it. Maven was an avid reader too, having perused the contents of the palace libraries, where Tiberias remained with his war stratagem. For Alyn, it was easy to delve into the contents of novels, to forget his wrongdoings and misgivings in the pages of a happy ending and an unending wealth of information.  
He remembered those idle days so well, where he had carried hope for a better future. There had been some naive part of him that believed in being released from his leash, from the watchful eye of Elara Merandus and the courtiers who stared at him with something akin to disgust or pity. To the queen, he was merely a troublesome toy that would be discarded at the first sign of malfunction. In those days, the pages of his endless novels spoke of happy endings. He could not find himself in them, the concept seemed so bizarre and foreign.  
  
His world did not contain fearless knights, malicious dragons, and vengeful gods from a bygone age. The entire idea was foolish, forever to be out of his reach. His young age did not fool him. His adopted view of his surroundings worked in his favor. As long as he remained silent and obeyed, a compliant pet, he would be allowed to exist. All that mattered was playing along, flowing in the current of dubious intentions and plots against the king.  
  
And yet, he heard others murmur of happy endings when they thought they were left alone. Hoping for more was vain. Yes, Alyn thought, happy endings only existed in books. Alyn felt a bitter taste in his mouth, glancing at Maven from under his eyelashes. In truth, there was no simple happy end to anything. People were complex, comprised of many endless experiences and of so many sides. Sometimes this side involved children forced to partake in despicable actions. And sometimes such despicable acts carried on after children were grown up, cementing to more horrible and atrocious actions later on their life.  
  
_Maybe happy endings simply didn't exist in the real world, in the court of liars and deceivers._ He hoped otherwise, but that hope was dwindling and slowly burning out, like the stump of a candle melting away. _And did people even deserve happy endings? How was it decided? Why would one fail?_  
  
Maybe he was undeserving of them, and this was his punishment. His sins would not have been forgotten with time. The cells stayed with him, unbidden in his memories. He could remember each prisoner, each emotion they held. The guilt became too much, overflowed and transformed to blazing anger. But the anger was his cliff, his lifeline. His anger was his determination, the only thing that could be trusted.  
  
He wouldn't bet against a cosmic power, if there ever had been one, shaking their head at his prayers and denying them. _No_ , he corrected himself, _not denying_. He had prayed to let out of the prison, and he had, only to end up in another form of a prison, a gilded cage of all things.  
  
It was more of a cruel joke than a rejection. An irony one might find amusing. But then again, it was never easy and never would be. Such was life.  
  
He banished the thought into the corner of his head. Like Maven, he had become well at avoiding topics that he would rather not handle. For now, it did not matter how his life would end. All that mattered that he survived, that he saw some glimpse of his efforts succeeding. He shook his head, hands intertwining in an effort to pause his train of thought.  
  
"I'll follow your advice then, Your Majesty. You're surely right. It would not do good to hear the spread of any more rumors." He bit his lip, hands clasped patiently at his side. "My visit was unplanned last night, I didn't bring a spare pair of clothes with me..."  
  
"You can have one of my coats, in that case. There should be at least one that will suit you." He refrained from the urge to narrow his eyes, to be suspicious of Maven's hospitality and kindness. He enjoyed Maven's company far more when he was like this, considerate and compassionate. Was it pretense? An act to lower his defenses? Either way, he replied gratefully.  
  
"That's very gracious of you, Your Majesty. But would that not catch attention? None of my clothes are as finely made as yours."  
  
"Your clothes never fit, even when I send you a perfectly tailored jacket, you seem to shrink in it." Maven's forehead creased, only a little, at the incredulous and absurd thought. "You can pretend that I made it tailored for you, Alyn. It's more acceptable than leaving at such a state."  
  
"Of course.." Alyn was almost at ease again. Though he could not shrug off the images of last night or the dreams completely, he felt more comfortable. This was not always the case, there were days where his dreams haunted him relentlessly. He instead pretended to not be bothered by them, it helped as much as the rare playful bantering between them. "I'll try to accommodate if only to please you."  
  
"Then it's settled." Maven took one last unhurried glance in the mirror, displaying a young man in fine clothes and tailored crown. He seemed unburdened and assured in his stare as if he was conceived to rule. It was the opposite, in reality. Maven hid well in plain sight. He had learned it from his mother, the best. He was prepared for another day of pleasantries and small talk that left a bad aftertaste, of decisions and commands that would consolidate his power. When people looked at him, Alyn wondered, how far did their eyes see? They saw the crimson, they saw the crown. Maybe they saw beauty or cruelty. Perhaps both. There was deadly grace where there had been innocence once. When Alyn's eyes traced the sharp lines of Maven's face, he saw something else entirely. Hoping for it to be still there. Maven noticed his glare, but he didn't make any comment to indicate that he did. Alyn was grateful for that. He was unsure what his answer would be if questioned again. "And now I'll be taking my leave. There are more important matters than first kisses and coats to handle."  
  
"I am not needed then, I assume." Alyn gave Maven a last lingering look and his best smile.  
  
"You know where to find me if needed, Your Majesty." With that, Maven left, leaving Alyn to return to his own chamber.  
  
Alyn moved through the hallways, very careful not to catch the sight of one of the sentinels. After what had occurred, it wasn't the wisest thing to assume the queen had decided not to monitor him anymore. Guards let him pass unhindered for the most part. He felt fatigued, and with a few exceptions, no one spared him more than a glance. It was still so early, there was not much commotion. It could have even been considered pleasant. The roof looked like an entirely different place, barely comparable to the horrors of the night time.  
  
Meager plants were crawling along the walls. In the summer they must had been blooming in beautiful colors, now they looked more like ivy running wild. The plants still out in the open were trimmed neatly, but they couldn't hide the fact that winter was arriving soon, and that the time of their prime, their beautiful fragrance, and bright colors was gone. Faded, or withered away. They were dormant and waiting, or dying.  
  
The wind was gripping the trees around the residence. The branches were trembling in the cold, naked wood devoid of color. Only a few leaves remained, splotches of red and brown on the ground. The color reminded him of Elane's robust hair.  
  
With the wind still howling, his hood fluttered, soft cloth caressing his cheek as it pressed tightly against one side of his head in an especially heavy blow.  
  
Almost blurry as the drinking had rendered his sight, Myra's fall was razor sharp and clear.  
  
He could envision the way her hands twitched, stretched out in a desperate attempt to find balance. Her long hair had fanned around her pale face, the dirty red dress almost black in the dim light.  
  
The sound of the metal remained with him, vexing and loud. And her voice, of course. It resonated with him, joining the clashing yells and broken souls he carried on his shoulders. He remembered her last words.  
  
_You'll torture me. I know the king does that. Kidnapping people. They disappear. Some die. They're tumbling on gallows with their tongues out right now down the square!_  
  
Maybe Elara was right. Maybe he was blissfully ignorant. He did not like that thinking in the slightest, but he couldn't shake off the feeling he had missed too much in the past.  
  
This was not only about him, or about a friendship he wanted to preserve so badly. This was about lives, lost or still at stake.This was about an unnamed man on the streets and it was about a girl commanding lightning. It was about a dead governor and his daughter. About ideals and defiance, death and loss, an unending battle. He could not endure any more failures, could not afford more mistakes. His feet were too heavy, kicking cobbles over the hard ground of the terrace. As he reached the edge he could almost feel Myra's desperation again, so deep and full of sorrow. The memory echoed in his heart. His steps led him over to the edge, to the exact spot Elane had held him. To the point where Myra had fallen.  
  
A very heavy gust of wind sent him stumbling back, knocking the air out of his lungs. He needed a moment to recover, holding his hood. Tiny splotches of water touched his hands when he pulled it back over his hair. Grey clouds and wind. A storm was approaching.  
  
Alyn decided to press on. But he needed to be quick and careful about it.  
  
How curious, there was no railing on this side of the roof. But then again, it was the farthest from the door, away from the detailed carved chairs and the well-tended blend of snapdragons, calendulas, and geraniums. It was the abandoned side. And it was small. Barely four feet of free space that led right down. At second glance, he glanced at a piece of ripped metal. Considering the way the metal could bend under a Samos will, the gap was her doing, and the metal had ended piercing Myra's shoulder.  
  
Alyn leaned over the edge, very careful. The wind was in his back. One shove and he would have fallen. He kneeled down, hand gripping the ledge, where the stone stopped and metal formed the downspouts.  
  
Last night, there had been fractured limbs and silver blood. Now it was all clean. Too clean and unsoiled. He could only imagine servants scrubbing pools of blood from the smooth rock formation, blood soaking, to be rid with water.  
  
There was no evidence left. Just memories and withered flowers. Nothing to commemorate who had died. All that was left was the words of a hysterical girl, etched into his thoughts, and questions no one answered.  
  
He stared into the howling abyss. If he had fallen with her, he would have died. He needed to thank Elane, and maybe even Evangeline Samos. Though he wasn't sure how to approach her. Whatever his life was worth, they had saved it.  
  
But the cost had been dangerously high. It was not the first time his life had been traded for another. Willingness did not matter for the prize of blood.  
  
_How to proceed_ , he wondered, _what to do?_ With barely any support or connections, he had only a few friendly faces and even less array of choices. On the other hand, being an outcast had suited him fine in the past. With no one to threaten him anymore, he could move more freely. He could hear his uncle and the cold-eyed man, advising him. Their words could not be any more different. At first, a harsh voice spoke.  
  
**Oh, you know what to do, you use that evil little brain of yours and make them dance and sing.**

And then it was followed by a more gentle spirit, reminding him of a more kinder alternative.  
  
**Responsibilities, Alyn, my boy, you have to be gentle.**  
  
The cold-eyed man and the uncle both had left their traces on his soul, and they fought, the need to do whatever it would cost with the need to stay on the righteous path. But those paths were very close to each other at the moment, aligning. Perhaps they both pointed towards the same destined future, however bleak it may be.  
  
Walking a thin line, he glanced down one last time. He hoped he was good at balancing.  
  
He fought against the heavy wind and upcoming storm with every step. If it got any worse, he wasn't sure anyone would try to make progress on the preparations needed so dearly for traveling further. But that would require some time anyway. There was still the matter of appointing a new governor over the city, and he was sure this was a carefully placed pawn in the overarching game.  
  
The chairs shook and rattled, until one finally tipped over. It scraped over the ground with unpleasant screeching sound and fell with a shattering noise that he could even hear through the heavy wind.  
  
He watched two poor servants struggling and fighting the weather just as he did, pushing and pulling, carrying plants inside to shelter, turning tables.  
  
Alyn made his way through the door, down, where he could breathe again. He was well aware of the presence lurking in the back of the stairs, watching his every move through a mask.  
  
It had only been a small matter of time and expected. It didn't make anything easier, of course.  
  
The sentinel followed him. He was exceptionally careful. Alyn was positive he wasn't like Tyros, no mimic to throw back any attempt to manipulate him, but he wouldn't have dared to try. At least, not at this moment. He thought of Vael Gliacon and his dead sister. Dead sisters, another thing they had in common. If I wrote back, Alyn wondered, how many hands would open the letter, how many eyes would see it? Would it even reach its destination?  
  
He owed Gliacon an answer after he had been sent away for being a friend in times of need. A condolence, something vague and harmless would have to do. Vael would understand. He couldn't make it any worse for him.  
  
With his new shadow at his heels, he found it best to return to his own room for now, unless he wanted to incite more attention and suspicion unto himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some Alyn holding his hood . I will stare at this for a while and be happy because people draw my characters.  
> The coat is actually not crimson in the scene but I do love the stark red colour, a last love letter to the poor loyal boy he once was. And his hair is long too. I guess it is his tattered lord phase.
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156174254@N05/43359819551/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 


	10. Artificial orchid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Compliments are like flowers. They wither in vanity.

It seemed a century ago he had been in this very room. Still, all was where he had left it. The blue and green box stood near his bed, upon a small table. The bed itself was neatly made, of course, since no one had slept in it the last night. It wasn't as large, opulent, or finely made as the bed he had shared last night, but that had to be expected. The king himself could only be permitted to have access to the height of luxury, to indulge himself with such lush furnishing. It never mattered to him anyway. A pair of blankets and a hard ground had served as his bed for years. No soft pillow or mattress could repress the nightmares that haunted him so frequently now. He did not mention them to any living soul, having no one to confide in.

Julian was nowhere to be found, his warm presence absent in the cold and lavish halls. His only company these days were the king himself and the Haven girl, Elane. He did his best to evade the knowing glances of Elara Merandus, to make himself as invisible as possible. _A dog should only obey its master, should dismiss itself when it's presence is not required_. Or that was the mantra that he attempted so desperately to follow every day. His strange wrath from earlier had calmed to something more manageable, much more easier to control. With that in mind, his eyes strayed to his bed once again. Folded, with the sleeve hanging over the edge as always, his coat was waiting for him. He looked down on the washed out green, once bright emerald coat. The color was as faded as the house it represented. House Velx, what a joke. No influence, no power. The name meant nothing. A Lord ruling over dirt and dust. Only ashes and skulls remained of the manor and its inhabitants.  
He wondered where they had put his family to rest. He hoped alongside his mother. For all their failures, the dead deserved rest along their loved ones. Somewhere green, under a tree, without much glitter and glamour. Just a quiet place to sleep and rest. He hoped he would meet his end in that way, peacefully at the very least.

But even now, it was too much to hope. Elara Merandus would tire of him soon, of his defiance. And what would happen to him then? Would the boy-king protect him? Or would he dispose of him too? He was more of a toy, a passing fancy that had ensnared the king's attention and fascination, only for a time. He didn't hope to find out what would happen to him if that interest faded away.

By now, every other soul in the estate was about to rise. Though the grey sky did not make it easy to indicate what time exactly, Alyn was sure to halls would be filled soon enough with courtiers, chattering against their silk gloves and gossiping amongst themselves, participating in what one would call a civilized war, fought with words as opposed to swords and abilities.

That was the moment he noticed the envelope on the table. It was not one of Vael's letters, he recognized those without a second glance. He stared at the innocent parchment, lips pursing in thought.

The paper curled along his palm. It was fine, soft, not like the rasping paper back in prison but one of the books he had held as a child. An invitation. Of course, Alyn wanted to laugh. Of course, people invite me after last night. I caught their eye now, once and for all. For better or worse, his opportunity had arrived. Now, he only had to play the game right. And it had to be subtle.

They were many around him that had deceived for so long, that it had become easier than breathing itself. He had to outlast them, if not rival Maven's aptitude in manipulation. It was for the best that he was patient then, that he become better at concealing his emotions.

The invitation must have been delivered in the night, as he had been watching the sleep of another. After a man had died, silver streaming out of his nostrils, choking and flaying, like a fish on the shore. After he had been unable to secure and save a girl. She had asked him if the only person he truly had ever loved, despite their flaws and failures, was a good man. He could not answer fully then. He hoped he could soon. He wished to do at least something to appease his demons, the ghosts that kept him awake at night, counting his misgivings with each and every second.

 _He can be. He will be. With time._  
A hand grasping his, a gaze and a mind evading and dodging his control.  
Myra was becoming the embodiment of his guilty consciousness like so many others before her. It should not surprise him anymore, and yet it still did. With each death, he retreated into himself more and more, the only thing he could trust was his memories. And those could be tampered too. His mind was not safe, his ability seeming more useless and pointless with each further death.

Myra was Zella, she was Mare. She was all the people that had fallen into the hands of the Queen. That had fallen into his hands. She was everything that he was helpless to rescue and salvage.

His hands clasped around the paper tightly, refraining from scanning all of the contents immediately. He wanted to savor the words, bask in the knowledge of his victory. However small it was, it was an example that not all of his efforts were futile. Someone was noticing him. He knew the colors and the sigil, he knew the name. Black and Gold. Provos, he thought. Long, long ago, Provos and Velx had held a pact, sealed with marriages, but that had been centuries ago, and with most of his family and house eradicated, it did not matter anymore. He still made note of the connection, kept it fresh in his mind. It might serve some purpose, but he could not fathom why House Provos would contact him, why they would seek his presence. He did not dare to hope.

Provos. Loyal to whom? Was this a test? The Queen's doing maybe, to make sure he did not try to interact with the court. A long stretch, his paranoia was becoming Queen knew he held no interest in court affairs, and that he had always detested life in the palace. And she had been very content with that. Was this arranged by someone else? And for what motive and intention did they arrange such a scheme?

He had searched for a way in, maybe this was it. He could not hide from the history of his house any longer, could not shield himself away with remaining alone. It would not do to remain so naive anymore. The mountain of corpses that amassed with time proved that. He would sacrifice what was left of his bearings if it meant he could prevent any more deaths. So be it, then.

It was a wonder that he remained clueless when the answer had been in front of him all along. Yes, he would play the game. And he would play it _properly_ , with all the risks and all the things he had detested as long as he been wearing a mask. He could not afford to lose sight of what he was aiming for, could not lose in such a manner Cassis did. But he could not do it alone. He had not honed every skill that would be needed. He needed someone who could instruct him, someone he could trust. Trust was like a wild horse, needing to be tamed and earned. He only knew one person he trusted that much, and he knew she would be willing to step in and help him. Maybe she would even be delighted to see him around more often. He had no time to waste. It was not as if there was any other matter for him to attend to, either. His schedule was, for the first time in a while, clean. How opportune, it all was.

The Sentinel was still there, lurking around the corner, ready to strike. Alyn watched the way he followed him, careful. As if he believed Alyn was about to attack at any second. Something was strangely familiar in the way he moved, the way he held himself, but Alyn would not have been able to tell why he thought so.  
With the mask hiding the face, only the unkempt brown hair was visible. That was the only thing distinguishing him from any other man of average height and figure. His posture did not indicate of someone of status, but that was only what separated him from others, truly. Wasn't it? He would soon find a remedy for that. It would not do to walk in such a way.

He had moved alongside the court members in the palace, like ants crawling through the tunnels of their lair, buzzing with strength and life, ready to die and sacrifice for their queen, ready to sacrifice the lives of their so-called friends to please her, to earn some favor. Maybe he had seen that particular one before. It didn't matter. He could only remember blurred lines before the explosion on the ball, like he had woken out of a dream not too long ago. He would soon wake, watch his world shift and tilt until he was able to see others as chess pieces. He wondered if it was the same for Maven. But it was not good to let his mind wander. He had learned that long ago.

Elane's quarters were, of course, a lot larger and accommodating than his own. He waited for her to arrive, staring at the expensive looking ottoman as if she would just pop into existence there if he concentrated enough.  
When another door finally opened, he felt her silent steps and quiet, bright presence. He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious of his appearance, of the coat that was lent to him, of the rumors that surely reached the ears of a covert girl like her.  
He stood up from the chair he had been sitting on, clasping his hands behind his back, waiting.

"Alyn?" Elane's voice sounded hoarse. Had she been still asleep? He couldn't imagine that. Still, her hair was slightly tousled, and her dark gown was slung around her waist loosely and in haste. Had she been receiving company? He didn't let himself assume, that would be rude of him. He owed her that at the very least.

"I need your help," he said, not bothering to hide his intention from her.  
Elane tilted her head slightly, eyes curious. "Now?"

Was she hiding something from him? It was typical to expect there was much to conceal in a turbulent court. And yet...he thought they had been honest with each other. Maybe he had been wrong to think she would help him willingly.  
"I would rather have it sooner than later." He said, voice low, attempting to convey his urgency.  
"Now is not a good time." She insisted, hand brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear, glancing from the path she came from.  
Someone moved behind her, behind the closed door that probably led to her bath or bedroom, and when he enveloped his ability throughout the room, he felt a familiar presence, all bark, and bite, steel, and fury. The realization made him flush silver as he took in her disheveled curls again.

"Oh." Was the sound he made, bewildered and eyebrows drawn.

"Oh?" She repeated, slightly amused at his state of speechlessness."Let me finish my attire. I need to dress and get ready. I will be there for you, shortly." He nodded curtly and hastily, feeling rather awkward now.  
It seemed he had not been the only one sharing a bed, although in a very different manner. In the end, everyone sought comfort in the warmth of another person. Except that Elane had been seeking a very different comfort. The thought made another silver flush rise to his cheeks.  
"I will return later, Lady Haven." He lowered his head in the respective hint of a bow before he hurried away. Away from shared touches and lingering gazes, from feelings that made his stomach peak with a sensation he could not fully name.

* * *

"I wish you would care for yourself." Elane's soft voice reached his ears, patient with him.

Her hands touched the side of his head, hair matted with the sweat from the night, not even really combed. He had not bothered, too busy with his thoughts than much else.

"I do care for myself. Not so much my appearance, though." Not until now, considering recent events, where he would need to maintain a good reputation.

"Styling it would do for now, but as I know you, you'll let it slide again." Elane hummed softly, thoughtful as her hand touched the side of Alyn's head again. He let her. The touch brought him back to the present. "We'll cut it short. Really short this time." She decided, and the man that had waited patiently at her side moved forward. Alyn flinched under the touch of something cold on his scalp. He wanted to recoil fully, but he tried to remain immobile.

"Please tell me you are not planning on making me bald." His voice sounded strained to his own ears.

"Dogs get their coat cut when they start to shed," Elane said slowly, as if explaining this to an actual dog. He bit his lips, hands almost fidgeting with trepidation.

Alyn flinched again, but not because of the cold this time. Elane noticed, and her eyes were very sorry when she reconsidered her choice of words. She was right, of course. He held no grim against the truth. The words still rang in his mind, taunting him.

"I don't plan on making you bald, Lord Velx. Your hair is a lovely shade of brown. But when it's long, no one will ever see your face. And that would be a shame, wouldn't it?" Looking into the round, concave mirror in front of him, he tried to share her enthusiasm, but all he saw was pale skin and grey circles on a face to scrawny to be considered handsome. "Shave it," Elane commanded the man, hands weaving a pattern around Alyn's hair that he could not decipher from his tense position. "Here, here and here. And then we'll deal with the rest on top." her voice was confident, as if she made decisions about male haircuts every day.

His fingers brushed through a strand of his dark brown hair as if that would save it. It felt as if the loss of it symbolized the loss of his resolution to remain blameless. That was idiotic to believe, was it not?

"Is that really necessary?" He inquired, raising his head.

Elane's eyes shone in the light, dancing friendly, effervescent lights. She had patience with him. He hoped that she would not regret it."You wish to partake in court. I'll have you know that requires some effort." Her voice calmed him, enough to settle down, like placating an animal that would soon be slaughtered.

Alyn made a little sound in the back of his throat, submitting to his inevitable fate. A fluttering metal sound of scissors sealed the deal, and he watched brown locks fall. He closed his eyes as the rest of his hair strands soon followed suit.

"It's an invitation for tea. I had those before." He sat very still, hands on the side of his body. The man was practiced with the process, clearly, and he didn't talk. He didn't even try to make eye contact, doing his task. Alyn stretched his mind out and felt the focused energy of concentration, not to make any mistake, not to displease. He could relate, more than ever.

"True, but when was the last time you had a social call that did not involve me or the king? Make at least the attempt to look as pleasant as your presence is." Alyn nodded, sighing.

Alyn rolled his eyes, given the circumstances it was the only move he dared to make with a razor on his neck. It was safer to express his obvious displeasure later. "Ah, yes, how can I forget? Lady Provos will be overflowing with happiness to spent time with me, as long as my hair looks good."

Elane laughed softly, but not without a decent amount of mock. "I am sure she will." They settled into a known habit of bantering.

"And why would she, Lady Haven? What do you think about the invitation?" Elane's face tilted to him in the mirror, face contorted to contemplate his question. It did not take very long, the answer was not elusive.

The way Elane shook her head told him they both knew. "Because she is still looking to get her daughter married. And you are an eligible marriage option now, now that you are on the court. Your family name meant something once, she would be a fool to discard it." Her hand drummed on a nearby table, considering something for her own sake.

"Velx and Provos mesh well," Alyn added, a bitter smile tugging at his lips, attempting to not envision raven colored hair and blue eyes."Our blood is very compatible, as the past proved. There would be high chances my powers were inherited by my children." Dread filled him at the thought of being bred. It did make sense, and the thought had crossed his mind more than once. He had hoped for a long time the court would overlook him, a silly and naïve thought, of course. He hadn't spent much a thought about the possibilities to get married to someone, and he had no clue what the Provos girl was like. Not that it did matter much. He was the only left member of his family, and surely the Queen would agree to get rid of him if the outcome was pleasing her. Some part of him protested at the mention of the very thought.

"And little Evelyn Provos is only the second born, Lady Provos wouldn't lose much, despite the fact you have little wealth." Alyn quirked an eyebrow, but did not comment further.

"I could be fathering a whole new dynasty of empathic manipulators," Alyn said, feeling very laconic. My father would be very pleased with me if I accept that deal, he thought. _A whole new world filled with monsters, ready to strangle their enemies with their own hatred_. "What does money mean in comparison to that?" Elane was silent, but she smiled at his reflection, eyes suddenly cold.

It took longer than he would have liked. Shuddering against the new sensation, his naked neck and ears tingled. He couldn't stop himself from scratching himself behind them. Elane had to keep his hands still, insistent with him like how a patient sibling could be.

"I knew it would suit you." Elane sounded pleased, staring at his new haircut.

"I am not so sure." It wasn't quite true. He looked less ragged and jarring, as he tilted his head. At least he thought so. His sense of style wasn't on par with Elane. With proper and fitting clothing and some more weight gained, he may even have looked like all the other people wandering around the court.

"Shush, Lord Velx." She scolded, friendly and walking alongside him. "We both know you are pretty behind that red-rimmed eyes and grey bags. Just don't forget to smile."

He sighed, already tired with the charade and the effort to even maintain small interest. He had a lot to work to do, he wondered how anyone managed this, least of all Maven.

"Where is that lovely coat you wore this morning?" Elane had already moved on from the topic. Maybe she was just trying to distract him. She had a very strange marriage agreement herself, after all. He did not plan on bringing it up unless prompted, to avoid more awkward conversation than necessary.

"It is borrowed," Alyn averted his gaze, back to the mirror, as if he was suddenly very busy admiring his haircut. "I intend to give it back." He did not mention its owner, which was soon noticed by Elane.

"Whoever gave it to you knew you look good in black and blue. It would be a shame not to wear it when you meet Provos." Her voice held a sense of amusement, eyes glimmering.

"The sleeves are too long and it's too large for me." He offered as an excuse, knowing full well that was not the reason why he rejected the idea.

"You always shrink in your clothes, Alyn," she stated, matter of a fact. He could not deny that.

He had to smile a little at the comment, remembering Maven's creased forehead, and Elane watched curiously, judging him.

"You are not the first to tell me that today."

* * *

He knew little about Lady Provos. Most of the known information was meager and useless. He had never been introduced to her officially, and all he knew for sure was his ability coursing through his blood, demanding to be used to its potential. He trusted that ability, for now, it was the only thing he could rely on. At least, if he intended to win.

Elane had done her share to make him look like he was up for the challenge, and appearances mattered. They mattered more than anything in the treacherous court. Still, he felt like he was crafted from pure glass, nervous and fragile. All he wanted to do now that attention was brought to his existence was curl up in his room. He had declined invitations before. At that time, it had been fairly easy. He had been but a child, not even a real teenager, and hidden under the wings of Elara. There had not been much recognition for his existence. He was no secret, not really, but he was a sick child in need of rest, a frail little thing. He supposes he's still that, pretending to be much more impressive than he really is. But he had to start somewhere. Even though it might require deceiving himself more than anything else.

Just don't forget to smile, Elane had said. She had instructed him as much as she could.

He did, as best as he could, putting up a false smile for show, plastered to his face.

The sentinel had waited for him again. His new shadow seemed to watch very closely. Alyn thought of his actions, stupid and reckless when he had broken into that room in another house. He wondered where the backlash stemmed from. Maybe the Queen held the knowledge leverage, for now, so she could get rid off him later.

Maybe he should have been even more grateful for Maven's will to keep him close. It was the only thing protecting him. He did not wish to know what the Queen would do to him without Maven's protection.

Until the day Maven grew tired of him. Alyn dreaded the thought, he better had something else, something for himself, to protect him. He should not be so dependent on the will of a volatile king.

Lady Provos was a good start, serving as a practice more than anything. The invitation suited his plans fine. He didn't expect anything but traps disguised as presents, but he knew enough about the liars and deceivers not to fall so deep. Or so he hoped.

The storm had calmed a bit, outside, whirling grey, little splotches of rain running down the windows of the parlor. It was impending doom. Very dramatic, he thought, sardonically.

Alyn wore black, simple and classic, as Elane had put it. He trusted her judgment when it came to his attire. His collar itched where his neck was all bare skin. At the end of their meeting, he found it difficult to believe he was the creature in the mirror, fine-dressed, and pale, not ragged but somehow..new. He thought of Maven again, in front of a mirror, and now he could, even more than ever, empathize at that frown.

He clasped his hands behind his back and tried to relax his tense shoulders. It was so hot in the room that he felt little drops of perspiration forming on his nape. Hot but not dry, like a swamp.

There were enormous plants towering by the window. Orchids, he recognized as he stepped closer to examine them. In the light, the yellow shone brightly, rimmed with dark pink lines, the petals were as large as his palms. They had a very distinct smell, something between a floral, sweet scent and something sharp, almost spicy and tangy. No wonder the air seemed so humid. Someone must have had watered them very extensively recently.

The ladies were late. To prove a point, demonstrate something, he was sure of it.

Lady Provos was small, likely without her heels, he guessed. She was just his height, not as slender as Elara. Still, she was no less impressive in her attire and behavior. Her hair was braided and twisted, forming an elegant knot on the back of her head. Gold and black, tightly tailored to her body, her dress was not as flamboyant as a gown at a ball, but still an embodiment of wealth. Finely carved gems adorned a simple golden necklace around her slender neck. It could have fed an endless line of servants.

Standing straight, he lowered his head, greeting her politely.

"Lord Velx, I am so pleased you could make room for this small gathering." She extended her hand to him, and he took it, smiling as brightly as he could. Torturer Velx could wrap people's minds around his finger. Lord Velx would have to do as well, but more subtle.

"I am no less delighted, My Lady," Alyn was almost proud of his voice, not brash but strong and steady, and the nervous shaking of his soul kept inside. Very carefully, he extended his ability. She was cautious but confident, with a hint of dislike flaring through her as his fingers touched her. It should not have surprised him after the insults and chattering he had endured, the whispers behind his back.

Evelyn Provos came after her mother, but she was less heavy dressed, in simple black trousers and no heels. She was sweet looking, not an exceptional beauty like Elane, but still easy on the eyes.

Her curls spilled over her shoulders, held on the back by an amber colored hair clip.

"Lord Velx." She smiled when his eyes took her form in. Her eyes were doe-like, with long lashes, under a dozen dark lines around them making them shine like the amber in her hair. "I had hoped we would meet. I heard so much about you the last weeks."

I can imagine that all too well, Lady Evelyn.

"I did not have that pleasure, sadly, but it makes this introduction all the more exciting for me." He took her hand as well, and she squeezed it, for the slightest of seconds, but it did not escape him. Yes, yes, that is right, be pretty and smile, the snide voice in his head commented.

Convince them.

There was a quiet, busy moment as porcelain cluttered on the glass table. Alyn caught sight of a disappearing skirt.

"How about we take a seat?" Lady Provos asked, outwardly friendly and trite.

"Gladly." Alyn accepted. "These orchids are beautiful." He added, sitting down, looking at the flowers again.

"The room needed a touch of colors, especially with that dreadful weather." Lady Provos remarked, sitting down on an upholstered chair, embroidered with flowers.

"Ah, yes. The storm. It is brewing. We will be staying a while longer than anticipated, it seems." _Weather and flowers, that's a basic._ He wondered how long it would take until the first sling was laid out for him to stumble into.

"That is not entirely the storm's fault. A terrible thing that happened to the governor, don't you think?" Lord Provos eyes were lurking, ready, and her hands held the goblet very still between her hands, adorned with gold rings. "My daughter was not there to witness it, luckily, but I remember you talking to his daughter before it occurred."

Her name was Myra, he wanted to shout. Alyn channeled all his discipline before he sighed, leaning over the table and gripping his own chalice, filled with rich wine.

"I did, but I could not determine what she was about to commit. We were very fortunate the king survived this act of terror."

"Rest assured, no one would have anticipated her to be so vile." Evelyn Provos looked over the table, almost in sympathy. Behind his smile, Alyn gritted his teeth together. "But we heard you were the one to find her."

His hands had started shaking as he drank, burning the tip of his tongue in the process. The pain reminded him he had to stay calm or he would burn completely.

Alyn coughed out a stifled sound, trying to gain control over his body. It took a few breaths and another burning sip of his mouth. "I did. But I was not without assistance. Without Lady Samos and Lady Haven, I would not be standing to talk about it."

"How very modest you are." Lady Provos smiled, thin-lipped. No fool, oh no, just as sharp as he had expected.

"Being humble is all a poor man like myself can do, Lady Provos." Alyn clung to Elane's words as he smiled back in vain.

For a moment, they gauged each other, not willing to leave the other out of their sight. If he hadn't known better, Alyn would have bet Lady Provos was reading his feelings just as he explored her own set.

"A redeeming quality in a young man." She finally said. "But I am sure you are selling yourself short."

"That's too kind." He looked away from her, but before he could catch his breath, Evelyn was at him again.

"I have not heard your family's name since my history lessons, Lord Velx. Where did you grow up?"

"Rainport Manor, my family's estate, lies south of Corvium, an hour's ride, at best." He thought of the ivy running wild and the backyard, the picture of the barn and the horse. "But I am sure you know I was a very sick and sheltered child. I spent much of my time in the capital, but never was able to attend court."

 _I guess we are going to call it sheltered from now on_ , Alyn thought, with a bitter taste in his mouth, _because locked up does not have the nicest ring to it. Also, let's forget my time spent in a cell. Who would care for a trivial fact like that?_

It was foolish to even think about that. If anyone was to know, there would be no more invitations for tea. A crippled sick and poor boy was one thing. A boy that had spent years fallen from grace and torturing people was another.

"Your father and I," Lady Provos leaned forward. "Had some intriguing conversations before he died, may his soul rest in peace. A very ambitious man. I see some of it in you."

_Because I am chasing the king, Lady Provos, is that what you want to say?_

"Again, you are being too kind, your Ladyship." Alyn straightened his back, leaning against the soft back of the chair. The sweet scent of the tea and the flowers combined with the humid air made his stomach turn. It reminded him of other rotten scents from his dreams, bearing an odd semblance of carrion flowers, concealed rotten flesh.

"He would be pleased to see his son carry on the legacy of the family, I am sure."

Pushing, evading, stinging, cautious. It was everything Alyn hated as he stared back at the older woman.

"I have not yet decided how I would best carry his legacy and make him proud." Not that I think I ever could make him proud. Especially not with the rumors circling. He thought I was an abomination before. He would shun me even more now. There was too much talk of the dead today. Alyn felt tired of it. But she seemed oddly relentless in her pursuit.

Alyn looked over at them, still leaning into their voices. Those gold and black clad women, who'd not stop to devour him if he made a mistake. He was glad that Elane had insisted to cut his hair so short, otherwise, it would have been drenched in his sweat. The humid air was making it hard for him to breathe properly, and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of his coat.  
His tie seemed to strangle him, but he concentrated his will on his power, very slow and gentle, not to make them suspicious. _I am a pet, yes? I could be yours too. You look at me and see me smiling and stumbling and you know I am not a danger but an investment._  
He injected curiosity. A pinch of harmless enjoyment. Like someone looked at a particular interesting piece of art he slowly came to like.

It was downright dirty how easy they made it.

"For now, Lady Provos, " Alyn said, distracting their thoughts, away from the tingling sensation of success, away from his manipulation. "I would think my position not strong enough to carry my fathers legacy. I'm but a poor man in a whole new world. And it does not happen everyday one does partake in the coronation of a new king. Let us just enjoy our prospective future. "

Lady Provos smiled, thin-lipped but less disgusted this time. "You have a way with words, Lord Velx. A way your father was lacking. I hope we enjoy our prospective future as acquaintances."

He bowed his head before her, slightly, in agreement.

There was hurt flaring through doe eyed Evelyn at the rejection. It was ugly hurt, in pride, not unlike some moments he had shared with Maven. It was dirty hurt, wounded , angry, roaring.

Her face showed nothing of it. Endless nights of roaring anger, smashing vases and stinging need had taught Alyn common sense. He couldn't prevent her disdain. But he could soothe it very well.

This hurt demanded attention over every other sentiment or action. It wanted to be stroked, to be adored and recognized.

"Lady Evelyn," He dared to say her first name, a whisper of sweetness rivaling the tea and the saccharine smell of the orchids. "Please, enlighten me. How do you like the city?"

"Graciously, Lord Velx. It is very beautiful, but I couldn't enjoy it as much as I wanted."

He smiled so hard his face hurt.

"The sight of a dead body will do that the most beautiful place, of course." She dismissed it with a shrug.

"Evelyn," Her mother chastised, staring into the voids of her teacup as if she was to read the future of the realm out of it. "I doubt Lord Velx wants to hear about some low life criminal getting executed."  
"But why not, Lady Provos? It seems to have made quite the impression. A low life criminal, you said?"  
Evelyn Provos seemed glad to share her story. He pressed against her mind just for the tiniest fraction of a moment, coaxing her willingness, pricking her eagerness. Evelyn Provos leaned over to Alyn, and he mimicked her stance, leaning over the table. _All ears,_ his body said, _enlighten me, my dear lady._

"A red, as far as I know. A collaborator. A terrorist. Some say he may have worked with the governor's daughter. Others go even further."

 _Tumbling on gallows,_ Myras ghost breathed before her skull smashed on the ground.

"Of course it is all just stories." Lady Provos cut her off. "As far as I am concerned, you need no reason to punish the likewise of this..people. They ought to know their place."

Bitter taste in the back of his throat, Alyn Velx leaned over even more. " I would not dare to disagree, Lady Provos. When people try to claim something that never belonged to them in the first instance, they ought to be set straight. I was taught that lesson young, and it remained vivid."

After two tedious hours of interrogation, he left the swamp.

Elane would have been proud of his manners. As he had taken the women's hands, his fingers curling around theirs, his mind had done the same. He left them with a very confident but also very tired feeling.  
One step in the right direction, he supposed.

A test passed. One more stone the pave a road.

His hands started to nestle on his buttons, unfasteing his collar, letting him breath. Bathed in sweat, the almost cool air of the hallways seemed to kiss his skin.

He noticed the sentinel staring. The man radiated a mixture of disgust and amusement.  
Alyn gritted his teeth at him.


	11. Flickering lights

For a boy spending most of his life locked up and in captivity, he did fairly well the next days. His heart was still racing and his head spinning every time he left the secure space of his own room, and the thought of making a mistake twisted his stomach, but he fared through it nonetheless. His headaches didn't help either, migraines that made his brow heavy and his sight veiled grey, at worst knocking him out for hours. The throbbing pain came and went like a stray cat, and luckily never stayed. He was well acquainted with a migraine by now. Sometimes he forced himself up anyways, like a wounded animal. Other times it was so bad even keeping his eyes open was too much to ask. At least he never blacked out and did not have nosebleeds. Headaches could be kept quiet and private. The weather didn't help, with the wind howling and storm crashing. Thunder rumbling in the distance, it was the heaviest storm he had witnessed ever.

But all in all, it was easier, and it became easier in its own way. Lady Provos had been but the first stop, but the knowledge of their interaction spread like wildfire. He was not exactly a stranger, not with all the rumors, but now he was not the tattered lord anymore, he was something else. Something more profound, far more interesting and fascinating.

It was a small and long path, wound up in serpentines, along dead ends. People were curious but cautious, and he had little ground to convince them.

"Act humble and sweet, that'll do the trick." Elane had said.

"I can do humble, but I fear I'm not very sweet." He replied, trying to ignore the panic that became a frequent visitor now that he couldn't hide anymore. It made his chest tight and breathing difficult.

"It's not so far off from your personality." She tried to be encouraging. " I told you. Smile wide."

And so he did. As wrong as it felt, he smiled through evening walks at the garden, small discussions, and court flattery.

The Queen had departed somewhere unknown on the morning he had visited the rooftop, after the long and strange night full of death and warm hands tugging him in a bed. Alyn didn't need to know where she had gone as long as she was away. He felt a lot more confident in his attempts due to the lack of her presence.

His endeavors still lacked the grace that Elane or Evangeline for that matter, possessed. Between the time the king demanded and the times he pestered Elane, he didn't have much time left anyway. Somehow he still hoped it counted.

He had at least the feeling his efforts were working the moment he caught Sonya Iral staring at him. He could feel her interest clear like cold water running over his skin. It was not romantic or sexual. It was clearly of other nature, a nature he had the intention to explore.

Patience was a virtue, wasn't it?

"Not the scarf." Alyn clung desperately to the crimson cloth as if it was his firstborn child.

"You look terrible with that thing. It makes you sickly pale."

"You can take my coats and my hair, Lady Haven, but not the scarf." He insisted.

Elane didn't fight him over it, but he could see the gears in her head turning. She knew his reasons all too well. The scarf made him think of snow and reluctant smiles, hidden under a coat from the world.

As for the king himself... Alyn was not so sure he really appreciated the sudden spark of social energy.

The look he had received when he had first strided in, early in the morning, accompanied by a guard and his shadow, the Sentinel, was indecipherable. Even with his ability spread out to identify the feeling, Alyn wasn't able to figure it out. Maven was becoming unnervingly good at evading him.

"I see you finally accommodated." The glare moved down his hair, lingering on the curve of his cheeks and the line of his eyes before it wandered along the brim of his coat to the shining polished leather of his boots. It wasn't an unkind look, just observing, with no hint of any other emotion. Alyn still felt incredibly tense and anxious about it.

It almost hurt, trying to be something he didn't aspire to be, but at the same time he had watched and learned from the very best. It wasn't as if Alyn Velx liked the person he was very much anyway. "I told you I would." Alyn grimaced more than he smiled, as much as he tried, while he tried to keep his body straight and up, not coiled on itself like he wished he could. His breakfast had been rather meager. He had been far too nervous to eat.

His schedule along the king stayed the same, following along meetings after meetings. Some talks were not for his ears, though, and the dismissive wave always stung. He knew some of the faces by now. He knew which one to leave alone and which one to soothe, he knew which one to be cautious and which was to be friendly. Their feelings were like strings, running through his hands. He weaved them, into intricate patterns, like a tapestry. Careful and gentle, not to hurt. He had his own chair. It was almost laughable. Like a cushion for a puppy, it was close to the one the king inhabited. He had a feeling it was placed to placate him. Sometimes their legs brushed when one of them moved or got up, and Alyn's heart made a painful jump. The more he learned about the situation and the delicate nature of politics, the more he detested them. He kept the names of every city, of every stationed group of soldiers, every word about supplies and reports. He couldn't fathom the idea of them as chess pieces. Then he remembered prison and it wasn't as hard to see the philosophy of value. It was still a bitter pill to swallow.  
No one mentioned a thing about Mare Barrow or Mavens brother though, and wasn't that curious? If Alyn had to guess, he would have said it was a thing the king kept to himself and a very small group of people. Maybe just his mother. He sure had never confided in him ever again after their discussions drifted into territory so unsure and full of hurt it was hard to breath.

He attempted to be unnoticeable as much as possible, never raising his voice and barely speaking a word at all. And he did not pull a stunt like that one evening with the general, back when Maven's hand had hit the wall so hard it stained the wall with iridescent silver blood.

Ptolemus Samos was one of few people even acknowledging his existence. And the way he did it, with the same eyes as his sister, Alyn was sure he knew exactly what Alyn did. Those eyes weren't to be fooled.

"You are heavily relying on Samos," Alyn remarked when the king had decided to take a break. They sat on the large table, left alone. Maven was watching the grey clouds with eyes so dark they seemed to be the storm themselves. They were both worn down and fatigued, but of course, no one dared to mention it to the other.

Never show any weakness.

"And what would you rather have me do?" Maven asked, blue eyes turning to meet Alyn's green ones over the table.

"I am not your advisor, your Majesty," Alyn tried to evade unsuccessfully. "Nor can I claim to be skilled in any strategic form. It was merely an observation."

"Your advice is as good as any other." Maven frowned at him. "Maybe even better, since I can rely on your honesty."

Alyn bowed his head. "That is very flattering, your Majesty."

Maven was not letting him off easily. "You still have not answered the question, Lord Velx."

Bracing himself, Alyn breathed in deep, clasping his hands together in his lap. "People are angered, your Majesty. You united them under the anger. But how long can this fragile peace last?"

"Until this is over." There was determination. And something so cold it made Alyn's heart stutter. For a moment everything he knew and valued about Maven Calore was gone again and a stranger sat across the table.

"Bloodshed brings only more bloodshed," Alyn said, trying to sound not as shaken as he felt. "You could be the king that made peace. They could sing songs and hymns about it in hundred years, praising your noble deeds.."

Maven's brow creased a little again, smooth skin wrinkling, as if Alyn was a child that had smeared his best jacket with dirt. "Of course you would preach about compassion."

"Preaching was not what I intended, your Majesty." Alyn sighed. "It is merely my worry for your well being. I know a thousand reasons why this should not be right. They live and breathe, laugh and cry, doomed to fail and suffer."

"You are persistent, Lord Velx, I'll give you that." The stranger in Maven's skin said. He wore a razor-sharp glare that pierced right through Alyn. "But as always, you like to keep things simple. And nothing about the situation is simple."

Alyn clutched his hands so hard it hurt. "I have friends there, so it is quite simple for me. And you fight against more than one party. So isn't peace a viable option?"

"If I ordered Guard Gliacon back from the battlefield," There was curiosity in Maven's voice as much as the cold. "Would that change your view? If you knew he was safe? I could make him your personal guard..."

"Please stop," Alyn's voice was sharper than he had anticipated. "We both know that is not changing a thing. Not regarding another problem altogether."

Only a slight narrow movement around his lips suggested the king did not like the direction this conversation was taking. He was too good at containing everything, letting them intertwine together in the farthest corner of his mind. "I am not going to argue with you. Not after you pleaded me for their lives."

"And I am still pleading. But it is not like I would even know how to argue, your Majesty. You keep everything regarding Mare Barrow a good guarded secret. Especially from me."

At the sound of her name, something snapped in Maven. Alyn could feel it. It was as if someone had smashed something on the ground. Something in Maven had fractured. Loud and sudden and violent. The hand on the table curled into a tight fist. There was a lot of repressed anger in that simple gesture. A lot of slight and hurt bottled up. It was scornful, cold. A long breath, muscles tense, a clenched jaw. A fight to keep contained. Alyn thought of the grainy image on the desk, discarded there as if someone had pushed it away after a moment of too long lingering.

"I want to help." Alyn tried again. The words burned down his throat, but they held true as he stretched out his hand. He was not sure what he had intended to do. Perhaps he had wanted to close his fingers around the trembling fist. Maybe he just wanted to make sure it was clear he was reaching out, friendly.

Maven's eyes followed his movements. The fist disappeared, the arm was drawn back. If he had batted it away like an insect it would not have hurt more.

"You are dismissed, Lord Velx."

He knew that was the final call. Maven would not allow him to make a spectacle. But Alyn's blood was boiling like the fire the king could ignite along his palm.

He pressed the heel of his hand under his eye, trying to calm down. _He couldn't._

"You are dismissed." The king repeated, sharp face and hard voice. There was something desperate lurking underneath. As if he just wanted Alyn to leave him alone.

For all it was worth. Alyn Velx _could not._

"There has to be some way to end this that does not involve people tumbling on gallows just to prove a point."

"I'd suggest you stop talking about things you have no clue about." Maven warned. "But then you could say nothing at all."

"What do I NEED to know? So it is the truth? You are not denying it?"

"It is part of the truth."

Ah, they got a part of the truth, at least.

"Care to elaborate, your majesty?"

"You wouldn't understand." There were arrogance and ice, and it reminded Alyn of his encounters with the Queen. It left a bad impression on him.

"Because I am stupid and naive?" Alyn made a mocking sound. It came out of the back of his throat and he had not even been aware he was able to produce it until now. "Is that why you keep me around at your side? To make you feel superior? I am a fine tool for a beggar, am I not?"

 _You could force him to answer,_ the voice in his head pondered. You are deliberately holding back. _You hold your strength back since the day you decided to work through his anger. Even more since that night. Do it, push into his soul, and take what is yours._

_It would be so easy. He deserved the truth, didn't he?_

_Your mother can shut me down. All that holds me from you is my own restraint._

_Pull him apart. Take the anger, the arrogance. You can hurt him, you want to, so angry, so hurt. He doesn't deserve your mercy, your kindness, no one does. He doesn't deserve your love._

_His love._

Alyn Velx still stared at the table, paralyzed.

"The answer won't suit you. So I suggest you let it go" The king's upper lip quivered, only slightly. His last words wavered. Behind a face of stone Alyn felt biting anger and hurt. I should not have said that, Alyn realized, too late.

There was nothing left of the care that tugged him into a blanket and held his hand at night. Days seemed like a lifetime before now. There was the quiet, humorous boy, hidden behind a wall venom, and the king that bathed in said venom. Where one started and the other one ended was not clear. Maven moved dangerously slow. Alyn watched his arms, shoulders tense, as he got up from his seat.

"I didn't mean to-" Alyn started, feeling the color drain from his face. Anger fought with his need for peace, for harmony. And to be liked.

The king's mind held nothing for him but disgust and hurt, and when blue eyes bore right into his gaze, he regretted his pressure.

"I apologize for bringing it up." Alyn tried again. His voice was still too loud and too sharp. "But it hurts me to hear you talk about people like we are nothing."

"If you were nothing, Alyn Velx, I wouldn't bother to look after you." With his lips pulled into a cruel, thin line, one did not need to be able to feel emotions to see how visibly upset Maven was.

"Look after me?" He wanted to laugh into that face, laugh away the arrogance until it melted into something mellow, something he knew was there. Something that was afraid and hurt since the day they had met again.

"I am protecting you," the king said with force, barely containing his anger anymore.

"What makes you think I want to rely on that protection, your Majesty?" Alyn snapped. He had gotten up his seat himself and now he had to stare up at Maven. He hated to be small.

Their faces were pale and flushed by now, and they both leaned close. It would have been very easy to lean up, to touch a cheek so sharp he was afraid to cut himself on. There wasn't any intimacy in that closeness. It was pushing and pulling, rippling waves of anger and fear.

"I am the only thing standing between you and going back to prison." Maven whispered, voice so low it was barely audible.

He thought of the shadow, his sentinel, lurking around, eyes for the queen.

The fear was so hard on his soul he left all gentleness behind. It eradicated the foolish wish of a boy, holding onto a hand that tried to calm him.

"Thank you for warning me, your Majesty." He whispered back, just as low. "I won't ever forget that again."

When night came, he did not make the mistake to wander through the hallways. It would have been easy and a part of him wanted nothing more. He imagined the moment he stepped through the door and saw blue eyes. Maybe huddled over a book or paper on his desk. Maybe the grainy image of a girl, clenched in his hands. He knew it was wrong and as he had to avoid mistakes, sleeping in that very same bed HAD been one. It made his heart hurt and the hollow ache continued to stay, throbbing along his headache and the beating of his too fast pulse. Not even mentioning that it wasn't good for either of their reputation. The urge to bolt down the corridors and right into Maven's presence was almost a physical urge. He didn't, of course. And he wondered if Maven even cared, or took notice his foolish dog or discarded toy wasn't scratching at the doorstep, begging to let in.

Instead, he lay awake in his own bed, looking over to his chair, where a borrowed coat was still resting. Lightning dashed over the sky and through thick clouds. Alyn watched the flashing lights.

Lightning had a different meaning for him now than as a wondrous child easily impressed by galvanic beauty. He stepped out of his bed. Tossing and turning wouldn't help. He was as far from sleep as possible. Not that he minded. Sleep was another necessary evil.

The storm would exhaust itself soon if it kept running through like this. Good. He didn't want to stay in this city. He didn't want to stay in this big damned house. A house with a roof reminding him of a fall. With a bedroom reminding him of something he could never have and would regret.

A house full of lies and pretty faces. Full of the saccharine smell of rotten flesh. But his wishes didn't matter, did it? The past proved that.

* * *

On the other side of the kingdom, deeply hidden behind walls of steel, stone, and guards, buried underground, the storm made the lights in a cell block flicker. Most times the light was so dim it wasn't worth mentioning. It was a world devoid of colors, and the simplicity had branded into the souls of the surviving inmates. Electricity crackled, mocking the inmates of their lacking freedom.

Zella Velx sat up in her bunk, clutching to the stump of a pencil. Her brown hair was crusted with salt from dried sweat. Her bruised knuckles hurt as she clutched tightly to the only thing she called her belonging, a journal full of cluttered notes and drawings. Her eyes were more hollow than ever, reflecting her state more than anything. Time seemed an abstract concept, worthless and futile. She long since had abandoned her efforts of sketching tally marks on the rough surface of the wall across her.

She stared at the sketch she had worked on in the precious moments of light, and the images were the only thing keeping her sane. It was her way of reassuring herself all of this was real, that she herself was real. She hoped it was.

Sara Skonos's face was a study in grey, stained and smudged, an image formed out of small impressions and quiet moments. Born out of Zella's trembling hands and thoughts, thoughts that were all tangled within each other. Her talent for depicting others was the only thing that remained true to her.

Long and dirty unkempt hair framed her gaunt cheeks. Myriads of wrinkles detailed to the last spot, encircling eyes as grey as the rest of the sketch. Eyes that told of betrayal, of years in silence. But these eyes also told of gentleness, of endurance. She wished she could say the same for herself. The image was far from perfect, a sketch etched into the paper with force. The lines were hard and rough, edgy almost, with a messy streak, but they had character. At least that was what Zella told herself. Her journal was littered with small sketches, whenever she could not say what she wanted to get out of her mind. One showed her cell, another simply a flower she remembered. She had even drawn Captain Iral, looking at her, in a moment of almost friendliness and compassion, after the first time she had kept watch over the marching inmates and almost fainted as she gripped their minds hard. She did not mistake that look for pity. It was worth nothing. If one of them was ordered to shoot her in the head, they would. As soon as she lost value. And to answer that dire demand, she learned to maintain her value.

She had attempted to draw her family too, but she did not remember her brother very well and had no recollection of her mother at all. All that was left vividly were her uncle and her father, and she had started to work her way up, to get a face out of her head and on the paper, but after a few long strokes of the pencil she licked her thumb and smudged the lines until they were just pencil stains. She supposed her family was now very much the same, buried alongside nothing but dirt and loss.

Instead, she wrote about them. Not much, but enough for her, small things she had never been able to tell anyone, but needed so dearly. They kept her company when nothing else could comfort her.

**I was his sweet girl. Up until I was old enough to serve as currency.**

**Bruises, on hands, small wrists, struggling green eyes, not the chamber, no, no. A dinner table full of silence and bitterness.**

**He talked about balance and justice, but in the end, it was all idealistic babbling of an old man hidden in fairytales. He told it to children because we believed it. He wanted us to be good, but good achieve nothing. Good doesn't provide strength, power, influence, safety, security. And all that talk, it did not make him or us wise.**

**His lap was warm when I sat in it.**

**His beard tickled me.**

**He was a fool.**

**I ate chicken the day uncle Theron died.**

**Father let me pet the horses before they came to get me.**

**Brown burlap over my head, metal on my wrist. Hands shoved behind my back.**

**I should be glad that he's dead now. Glad that he only visits me as a ghost.**

Momentarily guilt would hit her whenever that thought passed through her mind, gripping her for a mere second, holding her captive in useless memories.

Her eyes returned to the lines, she squinted, trying to see them all. Shaking fingers, broken nails, damaged skin, her hands gripped the pencil hard, filling shadows and gaps around the sketch. She didn't exactly know why she had to draw Sara, but something commanded her, wanted her to preserve a face sentenced to death. No one would remember her in time, the only thing that would be left of her would be the sketched clenched inside her hand. Silvers did not put much meaning into remembering dead lords and ladies.

Zella remembered their first meeting well, just after their arrival in Corros Prison. She had written about them, about Julian Jacos, and about Sara. They were strange, sharing some mutual connection that still eluded her to this day.

At that time, Zella had already been a prisoner, but she was treated with more ease and respect than most of them because she was a prized possession, born to loosen tongues and rekindle hearts. A pet to bow and fetch when it was commanded to. But it served well enough, at least comparatively to her state now. She was told often to be thankful for her position, to keep her head down and not garner trouble. Zella wasn't naive enough to think it made her any better than the other poor bastards in the other cells. But Captain Iral and his men followed orders, and the orders including her were less severe. Food, a blanket, and daily walks in small encircled areas kept her strength. It was much more than the other prisoners were allowed. She was willowy, but not small, her lithe body adapted to it, and she made sure to use that strength. Her muscles reacted to the movements, and though she wasn't strong enough to rival any trained soldier, she was fast and flexible.

The bird sang and it got a treat for it. A simple but effective way to work with its situation.

But somewhere along the line, the bird got tired of singing and started cluttering its beak along the bars of the cage, it started being defiant. And that just wouldn't do. Rebellion would either be eliminated from her anatomy, or it would ruin her. The guards were very cautious around her since their comrade had made the mistake to get too close.

He had been stupid, Zella thought. Here, in her cell, his assault would have worked fine, with her mind too weak and blocked to do much damage. Instead, he had waited and watched. His eyes made her spine itch. She remembered his breath on her neck, the greed in his soul, and his hands grabbing her. She would be damned if she stood helpless.

 _You chose the wrong girl this time_ , she had thought as he had gripped her hard enough to let bruises bloom. Maybe he liked them young, or she was the least damaged that had caught his eye in the last weeks. She didn't care, and she didn't want to. If she started to think about amassed mistakes and misgivings, if she lined up behind all the regrets and craved forgiveness, she would not be able to sleep, and she would grow soft. And she couldn't allow her heart to get attached or her eyes to water. The void punished things like that. This void, this prison, swallowing people alive was a wolf's den, and she would not get eaten. She was not fodder, to be eaten alive limb by limb.

Already in a vicious mood, Zella had enjoyed the spectacle of him writhing on the floor, wincing like a beaten dog. She supposed she shouldn't have enjoyed the sight as much as she did. But something in her blood screamed for him to be harmed for his committed atrocities.

No one should dare to touch her, not in this manner. And if it was the last thing she did. She would not allow it.

His features had contorted with utter fear, perspiration clinging to his skin as he tried to move, to do anything but remain immobile. She had made him a babbling, scared fool. The sight made her smile, made her bare her teeth. He deserved it.

It had barely given her enough time to talk to Jacos and it had given her next to nothing on viable information.

Captain Iral had escorted her to her cell in person after that. He was not so bad, the captain. There were worse predators prowling the earth than him. To that, she only felt a small inkling of gratitude. That was the only luck on her side.

She remembered her shaking fists and her feet, barely scrambling over the floor as they accompanied her, indifferent to her pain. Her hands were secured behind her back, the shackles cutting into her skin, enough to make her bleed.

"You surely understand, my Lady," he said, almost curtly. "I have to take away your privileges. No more walks and no extra lights."

"Is that the reward for fighting off a man damaging your goods, Captain?" She gave her voice the steel of a thousand daggers, the strength came from a well she didn't know to possess anymore, she felt like she was about to faint. Her skin burned where the guard had gripped her. Despite the pain and the hurt, she did not regret her actions. He had only received what he sowed.

Captain Iral looked over at her, mouth a thin line, brow creasing with displeasure at the phrase. "The other guard told me you attacked him without reason, and as it is, I take the word of my men above those of prisoners, even if they are as well behaved and helpful as you."

Without reason. Zella's throat escaped a dry laugh. A part of her thought of her impulsive behavior, and she regretted it. "Surely the cameras got it too, captured his attempt." Her voice now seemed weak and strained.

"We disable most cameras as soon as you get to work. It's part of the protocol. Only the floor had footage, and that only proved your attack, as the other guard dragged you away." She found his excuses amusing, if not moronic. _Who did he think he was fooling? He was covering for his fellow_ officers, _if anything to not place blame on them. Why would he blame the rightfully accused when he could just as easily blame her in the same breath?_

No way to prove her testimony still then. They would not allow it. For the first time in a while, the protocol had hurt her chances.

She was still angry and irate, knowing that these men would continue their doing as soon as she was closed up again. The next girl wouldn't fight him off before anything happened. Rats stuck together, as they should, full of hatred. And one can contain wrathful critters so long.

The captain left her in her cell, stripping her off of any special treatment. And that was the official beginning of her fall from grace, as if she had any say in the first place.

The guards executed the order, taking everything away and she felt their hard glares and noticed their angry, abrupt and unnecessary loud movements as they ripped and fractured her belongings and possessions apart.

Under normal circumstances, Zella Velx would have been smarter, but she was terribly afraid and deeply hurt. And in moments like that, she did the only thing she knew. She roared as loud as she could, showing teeth and playing cocky, anything, just to prove the world wrong, to not show weakness. She did not wish to be as hollow as the others that were imprisoned alongside her, anything to be feeling alive, as much as she would be allowed to.

"Don't think I won't do it again. He deserved worse. And you do too." She said to a nearby guard, who scoffed at her in response.

"Shut your mouth." One of the guards ordered, standing in the flurry of what had been her bunk.

"Why, afraid of a little girl?" she hissed at him, fist clenched. "You'll burn in hell. All of you." Her voice was vengeful and loud.

They continued their work. Zella watched helplessly. Up until they recovered the stump of a pencil and a dirty journal.

Stupid as brute force was, in a room preventing her powers, built of silent stone, all she had left was her body. Her arms flew forward, trying to get a hold of the most intimate thing she had ever possessed.

The other guard, next to her, moved fast, and with full force, a fist hit her stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs and making her stagger back as she tasted blood in her lip.

 _That's what I get for having a weak spot, she thought,_ and through the pain and the frustrated and infuriated faces, she laughed. Another hit, and she fell to the floor, relishing in the sickness, the madness, the absurdity. It reminded her she was still very much alive, that she was somehow still her. She hoped that would remain the same.

"Cowards," she muttered, heaving her head up, spitting dark, silver blood on their shiny boots.

She didn't know if the captain turned a blind eye when they had hit her, but after that, they kept their distance. Good. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? To be left alone. No one was brave enough to test her again. She also never saw the man that had assaulted her ever again, but that didn't have to mean much. The place was massive. She did not fully understand the interest of operating a horrid prison such as this. But she accepted its existence nonetheless. Captain Iral had allowed Sara Skonos to heal her worse injuries. A split lip or bruised knuckles were a normal days work if the inmates didn't move fast enough, but one of the men had kicked her so hard her ribs had cracked and she couldn't breathe properly. That would have to take much longer to heal. And painfully so. She hated the loss of control over her breathing. Hated that most of all. Maybe Iral had underestimated the brute force of his men. He had cared to give orders not to hurt her face too much in the past.

Zella didn't put it past him that he knew her face called for help and protection. And maybe opened hearts as good as her power. As cautious and compliant to his superiors as the captain was, he was no fool, oh no, not at all. That had certainly been the case with Julian Jacos, and though her interrogation had ended in her considering to flee instead of getting information, the same trick could work for different people altogether.

She remembered her hitching breath, the desperate battle to suck air in, a piercing pain as she was lying on the cold, hard ground in the dim flickering of the artificial white light. Grey eyes had looked down at her, and hands touched her chest. The piercing pain flickered along with the light until it was gone, and only an echo remained.

Zella soaked her soul in the calm and soft touch. It felt foreign and familiar all at once, a comforting company was so scarce in the cells. Is this what being safe felt like? She wouldn't know, not anymore.

They sat in silence for a while, the mute woman and the girl who roared as loud as a lion to get rid of her fears. Zella stared at the silver, iridescent spots of blood and spit.

"Thank you," she finally whispered, forcing her eyes to look at Sara, to show some gratitude for the woman who displayed some mercy on her. "And I am sorry. I heard they'll execute you," she murmured, soft as a feather's touch.

Sara Skonos shook her head, wrinkles dancing around her eyes as she smiled. Zella could see the sadness in that smile without her ability.

"I hope it'll be fast. You don't deserve to suffer," she added, trying her best to be comforting too.

Sara Skonos hands were gentle as they touched Zella's shoulder, her arms, where the guard had held her tight. Already swollen, it showed the trace of his hands. In horror, Zella noticed how close she was to giving up and crying, sobbing in the arms of an almost complete stranger. Zella thought of the few short moments they had and wondered why her heart mourned the loss of this stranger so deeply. People died all the time. She had to get over it. It would not serve her well to be this weak.

Their encounter was so brief, Zella was sure it had happened a thousand times in her life to resonate so deeply.

She confronted a hundred people every day, and all of them prayed and cried, sobbed and yelled. Some touched her, hands searching like blind beggars in a vain attempt at incurring mercy, stalling the inevitable.

Striding barefoot along their cells and interrogation rooms, escorted by guards, she heard their prayers and sometimes she was gracious, but most times she was the scornful hand of deliverance. She brought anger, pain and at one glance, one small nervous shift in someone's heart caught her eye, she acted.

She did not enjoy it, but she held her head proudly.

 _You are worthy to be a queen,_ Lady Arven had said, etching the words into her head with the same force Zella now held the pencil.

_You are a wild thing, Zelly, and that savage strength is what you need to break them._

Lady Arven's encouragement was often followed by a crucial lecture that ended in pain and failure.

 _Zelly, Zelly_ , the lady's voice remained inside her. It rattled around her mind like some sort of a ball from a child's game.

She had no more tears for herself, not since the day the burlap had been pulled over her head when she was but nine.

The only remorse in her heart was pointed at the people holding her captives. But a vengeful goddess could turn against her priests fast, and the whole lot of them WOULD burn in hell. If she had to send them there, all the better.

Rats scurry together, plot together, kill together.

Let's be the poison, she thought.

And the anger remained, when everything else might have abandoned her or might have been confiscated away.

She was glad, she would find a use for it later. It was only a matter of time and patience. And she had that in spades.


	12. A game of lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a game, Lady Iral.

There was a noticeable fracture in his teacup. Gleaming through the thin, once finely crafted white porcelain, through the dark red liquid in it. It was not large enough to make a real disaster. It just destroyed the perfect vision of golden filigree circling around the cup, half concealed under his hands, warming the flesh in a comforting gesture like a mother would. He bit his lip, stared at the reflection within.

He was not the tattered lord anymore, at least not within the realm of appearances. With the guidance of Elane and his newfound sense of purpose, he had managed to gain some meager power and influence. That meant more than anything in this unforgiving and frigid court, where currency was power, influence, and lethal secrets. He focused on the teacup again. He was smiling, even when his grasp on the teacup threatened to truly shatter it against pristine marble floors.

It was not as if the loss of a teacup meant anything. Teacups truly possessed no value or merit. More than a hassle than they were truly worth, they shattered easily. But at least they added to appearance, continued with the facade of a splendid and opulent court. But pretenses can so long. Surely, the Scarlet Guard's maneuvers and dissent were provoking attention, eliciting skepticism and defiance, even outright opposition in some cases. Appeasing words from their king would do little to calm the chaos brewing. Yet, he could not bring himself to voice this, not if he liked to prevent anymore wrath from Maven. He was walking on thin ice. He was a man with limited time and resources, so many things to devote his attention to.

The teacup was as worthless as his home, the residences and land he owned, along with the papers he still needed to oversee. Papers that were long overdue, but would finally make the loss of everything real. The death of his sister. No return to his home. He had avoided thinking about this. But since courtiers gossipped freely behind bejeweled hands and began to uncover his past, there was no viable way to push the matter away. Court members would press the matter, inquiring about it behind their deceptive smiles, so inquisitive and prying. Oh, anything to eliminate their boredom. Or they mentioned his father and uncle. They knew about the colors of his coat before he put them on.

Not that that was hard to guess, it was black or green nowadays, to represent his tarnished house, soon to be recovered if the efforts of Lady Provos was anything to go by. He didn't risk anything, he played his cards safe. Some of his coats- now discarded and left to collect dust- had hints of crimson on them, all belonging to the king. He did not allow his eyes to rest upon it, to not remind himself of the fresh pain of their most recent confrontation. Just as he still didn't dare to sneak a glance at the black and blue striped coat resting on the chair. It demanded his attention but he was adamant as the king, he would not budge if Maven didn't.

The king still kept him up to the task at hand, still carrying out his duties. But more than ever, more meetings emerged that Alyn was instructed to not attend or was dismissed from. And if he was there, he might as well not be. Their legs didn't certainly brush against one another, and their eyes never really met. Stubborn and silly, this entire situation was. Both of them did not know how to resolve the forsaken moment on the table with hands never touching each other. And so they didn't. There was no more bantering and no more private moments. No matter how Alyn yearned for them.

"I should not have pressed the matter, your Majesty." Alyn tried to apologize. But it all came out wrong. It had not a comforting tone he had initially intended for, and nothing in his face suggested he meant a word he said. He was hurt as much as he was lost in his aching hollow pain and the desire to do anything to repair this mess. To salvage the pieces of the boy he had helped to damage, to mend him whole. There was, of course, no fix. People were not items or possessions. Organic matter changed with every breath, and the human mind was just as wavering and volatile as the flesh that contained it.

"No, you should have not." Maven retorted, brows furrowed. Something in him had been hurt too, Alyn was too aware of it all. He still couldn't leave the sore spot alone, needed to add pressure to it. Pouring salt on the wound. He could not keep to himself, wanting company and seeking comfort in a boy that no longer existed.

Crossing his arms, he took a breath, attempting desperately to ease his worries and the dormant anger that called to him, even now. "In my defense, you asked me to be honest and sincere. And I was nothing but, your Majesty."

"And I dismissed you." The strained words were uttered very coldly, with as much as indifference that Maven could conjure. Maven had retreated into his husk again, evading Alyn into somewhere he could not even have to hope of reaching him.

"Will you dismiss me every time I mention the topic? Why bother asking for my opinion at all, then?"

"I will not ever need your opinion again, Lord Velx. And I will not ever seek of it, if that is what's concerning you." The king kept his head straight, form rigid and stature fixed. But his shoulders were so tense and rigid, he seemed to break and fall apart under the weight of his crown. "You were perfectly right when you said you were not my advisor."

That was the end of that conversation.

In public, Alyn Velx was still nothing but loyal. He didn't want to spoil that image, for numerous reasons.

If he did, he would lose a lot of footing on the court.

If he did, he would lose the last bit of sensitive information he could garner.

If he did, he would lose Maven once and for all.

And he was not sure if he could endure another second in this accursed palace without the possibility of mending his slights and wrongdoings, no matter how small the chances were.

"People say you are having a lover's quarrel," Elane said one evening, so calm and with practiced poise that one would mistake it for small talk as they prepared for a formal function. It was a more contained event, nothing to write odes about- but a distraction. Because the king was not to be there.

An opportunity to be not haunted by blue eyes and frigid words. It also presented another opportunity, because Lady Provos and Sonya Iral were attending. Elane approached him almost casually as he leaned by the window, releasing a deep exhale. Everyone has realized they were mutual friends, or close acquaintances at least, by now. She wore black and obsidian brocade, her hair was radiating in the most brilliant red in contrast. He wore as much black as he could, with tiny complementary strikes of white. Here he was, chattering idly and smiling, even when his body protested against the simple and frivolous activity.

His eyes seemed too large and trusting, almost chartreuse green in the black reflection of the window.

"Of course they are." Alyn almost scoffed in frustration. He wished things were as simple as the rumors made it out be. His life did not involve any exciting, clandestine trysts as the gossip claimed. He drunk from his chalice of wine. The alcohol didn't burn in his throat anymore, as he had acquired a taste for it. He even had found a liking for the flavor, tart and honeyed droplets on his tongue. It helped calm his nerves down, placate his fears into manageable fragments. He knew Maven wouldn't approve the use of it for such a purpose, as his father had resorted to intoxicate himself to drown his grief and sorrow to the death of his late wife, Coriane.

Maven himself avoided wine in general, perhaps fearing to be a replica of his father. He only touched it if need it be, when in diplomatic talks and significant conferences, to leave the desired impression. He did not wish to be viewed as weak, perhaps. The wine didn't render Alyn useless as the first evening down these halls, where a toast had resulted in the death of the old governor.

The very halls which were to be replaced with much glamour and noise. A formal thing, really. Elara and Maven had groomed a successor for a while now, it did not unnerve or unsettle them. He doubted they would be perturbed by anything anyone else would. Even in the court of starving wolves, they reigned as serpents.

But at least that would give him a reason to take a riskier step.

"I wish it was just that, really." He muttered when he was sure only she could hear of it. The wine had lessened the typical composure he held, unfortunately, enough for him to reveal some unsavory topics, but only in a trusting presence, it seemed. He didn't dare let his guard down more than Elane. There were always incidents where his heart threatened to shatter from hurt. Times where there was overwhelming longing and pain, need and want, all vying for attention within the scattered thoughts of his. Here he would always be, as long as he was alive, he feared. But this wasn't about the times Alyn had craved a kiss or had been forgotten in the back of a house, stored away like a good, a product. He didn't expect anything. It had lowered the deliverance of each blow. This was something else. Another offer for help to Maven, another urge to open up, discarded.

"There are some things better left untouched in public." Elane answered and snatched the chalice out of his hand. The intention behind that was clear. He was being a sentimental fool again and had more than his share of alcohol.

"Oh Lady Haven," Alyn smiled at her, meek, but he did mean it. "Where would I be without you?"

Another glance and another thing left untouched.

Sonya Iral and Alyn continued their stares over a table, smiles that were nothing but masks and by now, it was almost a chase. A welcome one. He was not interested in her body, as much as she wasn't interested in his. There was the interest of an intellectual nature, and with each word that slipped their lips, each curtsy and bow, each nonsense about the weather, a dress, he felt she was testing him. He was testing her just as much.

He looked at the way her hands moved, and her legs strode when she walked, deadly and silent. Every bit of an Iral, like the revered Panther that was now dead. He looked at her curved smile and the court practiced way of her words, how she managed to command respect in the same manner that Evangeline Samos did. Except her intimidation relied on mere distractions, no threats of violence, but the threat of blackmail and extortion that might not even truly exist. Irals did collect secrets and information by trade, a good portion of them employed as spies in the ranks of Silver officers. He had much to fear and much to learn.

On the inside, Sonya Iral was just as swift and deadly as her movements suggested. She was sharp, and Alyn liked the way her feelings barely brushed through, fleeting because she was aware he was monitoring her.

She waited until Alyn had decided brooding on the window would get him nowhere. She waited for him to seize the opportunity. As soon as he approached the group of preoccupied courtiers, her eyes locked on him, and he smiled so sweetly he was afraid his teeth would turn to rot.

"Lord Velx." She greeted, nothing if not the epitome of a fair lady, if not for her selection of attire. The people around them stared and watched closely. Her outfit was almost military issued, like a uniform, but tailored at the right places. He had learned to recognize beauty when he observed it. Except when he looked in the mirror, that was. Though Elane assured him patiently, on regular basis, that he fitted in just as well.

"Lady Iral," his voice was as languid and delicate as the wine that has been cascading down his throat just a moment ago. Pretending had become gradually easier. He had worn masks his whole life. Pretending not to care for the gossip was something he should have done earlier. All the senseless tears would have never occurred. "I had hoped to find you here, we have much to discuss. We get to see each other so rarely."

"Everything seems to happen so fast these days, it is rather exciting." She said, perfectly innocent and blameless, testing him again. "I would be pleased to have your company."

He could pretend this was the closed banter he had with Elane and Maven for so long. Only for a moment, he reasoned. It always helped to soothe the suffocating feeling in his chest and the panic silencing words on his tongue.

"As I do, Lady Iral. I am not as well versed or acquainted with the court as I wished I was. It is such a lovely evening." He offered his arm, unnerved at the way her eyes remained on his, gauging him. "Would you mind introducing me?"

She accepted his offer, intertwining their hands as she led him through. Their bodies brushed through layers of lavish silk of the court members. They moved around the room, wading through meaningless conversation and hidden meanings. The chase was coursing through his blood by now, and he was careful to pick the right words. More than ever, no mistakes were allowed. He felt half the prey, half the predator.

She wants something. Everyone wants something from him nowadays.

"You seem distracted, Lord Velx. I hope you are not feeling sick?" Sonya said in a quieter moment, playing coy. She leaned a little closer than appropriate, but only the tiniest of fractions, just enough for people to notice, to think that they were becoming closer. He was aware of the implication.

You know damn well, that we are just playing that game again, he thought. Instead of stating what was on his mind, he let his hand rest on her elbow, feeling the soft cloth beneath his palm. "As you surely know, I am often sick, so please don't concern yourself with my minor ailments. It will be over in no time." He offered a soft smile he hoped was convincing.

"I should hope so. I don't enjoy seeing you so pale."

"Your words alone make me feel better already." Never had there been words spoken as fake and exaggerated. He wanted to laugh. "Though I know your words can do so many things, Lady Iral."

"You flatter me." If she had blushed, she could not have looked more modest. He did not fall for it.

"I feel like I wouldn't need to flatter you. A woman like yourself must surely know about all her qualities."

He didn't need to rifle through her feelings to know what she was surely thinking.

_Prove your worth, then maybe we can be of help for each other._

No one dared to come nearer than a few feet now, with both of them preoccupied in a conversation. It was almost pleasant. She was a shield. People were terrified of making a fool of themselves in front of her. Another quality that she shared with Evangeline Samos, a supposed close friends of hers. He doubted they shared any genuine affection for another. Friendship meant nothing in the court.

"Let's play a game," he proposed, folding his arms behind his back like the obedient servant he was.

"A game?" Sonya Iral asked, smiling that dangerous, meaningless smile. _No need for surprise. We both know we play already._

"Oh yes. We are both terribly bored, I know it," he leaned in, whispering almost conspiratorially, like she was his closest confidant, when in truth the knowledge she may have possessed alone scared and fascinated him deeply. "But we also both know many things. You are better prepared, I admit, but I have a field advantage."

"Using your ability to spy on these poor people, how scandalous." She seemed amused. He was satisfied, she found him entertaining at the very least, his efforts weren't all useless. "What are the rules then?" She regarded the courtiers around her.

"Easy enough, my Lady. Each of us tells a truth or a lie about a person in this room. In the end, the other must determine what is real."

"You'll learn soon enough that 'real' is a very dilative term." She smiled into her cup, eyes cast downward as she considered her next movements.

"You may choose the first person." He offered in response to her reluctance.

"What about..." Her eyes locked in Elane's form across the room, tilting her hair and listening. "Our dear Lady Haven."

He didn't want to say anything remotely negative about Elane, not after everything she had done, not after the small mercies and wisdom she provided. So he was going to offer something insubstantial. "Well, she certainly thrives in the attention people grant her, and she enjoys the spotlight."

"That's too obvious, Lord Velx." Sonya chided softly, lips twisting into an indecipherable expression.

"She's missing someone dearly." Sonya's eyes settled on him at last, gazing at him in a manner that suggested she found his words ironic.

"Of course she is, her future husband is always so busy."

Sonya stared at the courtiers surrounding them, face focused.

"You said the truth, very blatant and apparent." Sonya Iral answered.

"And you will lie, no matter what." He offered her a full glass and she took it graciously. "I feel that intention, and I can respect it."

"It's a draw then. An unfair one, but I am no sore loser." She gave a curt nod.

"As compensation, I grant you to choose the next person."

"Well," Her gaze lingered nowhere, brushing barely anyone before it returned to Alyn. "I choose you."

He was genuinely surprised. "What would you possibly need to know about me?"

"You truly are humble as they say..."

"Is that your pick?"

She laughed and he had to admit it was very attractive. But it was also planned and laid out carefully, like one of those carnivorous plants that were too sweet and sticky, until a fly landed in its mouth to be ensnared. "Oh dear no, wouldn't that be too obvious?"

"Probably." He whispered, feeling a shiver on his spine. He tried to smile it away, but the anxiety was back and it was threatening to suffocate him, pressing hard on his chest.

"You are in fact not what you seem," she offered at last. "And nothing people say about you is true."

"I hate to disappoint you, Lady Iral. I am not sure what you mean by that."

"That," she said with a nonchalant sip from her glass. "Is a lie. I win."

He stared helplessly for a second before he could catch himself, remembering to compose his facial expressions, to conceal his true response.

"Very well, you defeated me." The words felt heavy on his tongue, so unlike the wine that was consumed earlier. "What will your prize be?" He was sincerely curious.

"I am fine with us being such good friends at the moment." The way she uttered the words was anything but friendly, no, hostility lurked beneath her smooth words. And it could not have been more obvious he was the fly, and the trap had snapped shut. "And as that is..." She bathed in the way he was growing nervous with each second. "Do you see the woman over there?" She whispered, leaning in even more closely and Alyn crossed his arms, almost brushing her hair against his brow as he followed her motion.

It was the perfect provocation and he WANTED someone to see. He could use the gossip to his advantage, it wouldn't do good to be only harmed by it.

"Oh yes. Yellow does not suit her at all." He said almost casually.

There was a dangerous glow lingering behind that little, meaningless smile. "That is Velanna and Vael Gliacon's mother. I am sure you remember them."

He thought of short Velanna, all duty behind her mask, letting blood freeze in veins. Now dead and buried, to be forgotten.

"I don't recall ever talking to Velanna Gliacon. A sentinel, wasn't she?"

"Oh yes, you were not in court when _it_ happened." She smiled thinly and her sharp eyes were watching every little move he made, like a hawk moving in for an easy kill. "There was a series of unfortunate events that led to her disgrace. But you were acquainted with Guard Gliacon, were you not? Such a brave young man, giving up his status at the palace to follow her."

"We correspond in infrequent terms." Alyn forced himself to say, in a vain attempt to keep himself calm. "He writes from the battlefield as much as he can manage."

He forced himself to stop staring openly at the woman that had lost her children to some obscure power play in the palace. She didn't look especially sorry or sad, but that had no real meaning. Maybe she was masking her grief beneath ferocious claws, pretending to be strong and unaffected.

"I wondered why you didn't try to pay Lady Gliacon your respects. You are always so gentle and friendly."

Alyn was as curious as he was hesitant. Very carefully and very gently he seized Sonya Iral's mind and just gave her a little push of encouragement at that train of thought. "She's not pleased with the way things are, and some very sharp tongues have it she isn't on good terms with the Queen. But the poor woman is stricken with grief, and you can't hold it against her after the tragedy she had to fathom. The Queen knows that too, in all her graciousness."

"Yes, truly a terrible tragedy," Alyn said, mechanically and monotonously. Lady Iral recognized what he had just done. She had noticed and was fighting for control. He hadn't experienced such a challenge since the first time Elara Merandus seized his own mind. Alyn retreated, swift and sharp, cursing his daring for the alcohol pulsing through his mind, clouding his judgment.

"Her people are excellent pilots."

"Very fascinating. Flying is all very new to me, and I admire the ability to control something as massive and graceful as a jet."

"I thought that you would say that. You are so fond of traveling, are you not?"

"I was sheltered for such a long time, it feels like I was locked in." He laughed, softly. She joined in, her laugh like a summer breeze as her eyes narrowed.

The rest of the evening he stayed away from manipulating Sonya Iral, too afraid of what would happen if he dared again. But she remained at his side for the most part, which meant that at the very least, he had not lost her interest completely.

He had a strangely pleasant moment when Elane Haven and Sonya Iral met, and he just listened to their refined way to hurl words at each other, knowing he had still much to learn, and too little time.

Now, Alyn couldn't stop staring at the crack in the frail white cup, shaking hands whirling tea that had grown cold by now. He did not plan on drinking it.

It was as if the universe wanted to remind him of his fragile balance. Even his tableware had cracks, fractures, and broken pieces.

With a shattering noise, the cup spiraled down, breaking into innumerable pieces on the ground. He stepped over it, ignoring the pieces.

There were more than that one damaged cup, so easily replaced.

His life was not so easily replaced. Not now, not anymore.

There was little use in dwelling on the past now. Not when he had to plan something, anything to change the course of events laid out for him. He wasn't good with all of the pleasantries, with all the lies. It was hard not to lose patience all the time, no matter what he had told himself repeatedly. Though there were certainly benefits of pretending to be Lord Alyn. Pretending to be calm and well. To be anything other than the nervous, sad wreck he was in truth.

On his desk was a mess of parchment. It was as unorganized as his mind. He sat down, preparing for a long evening filled with nothing but unpleasant news and numbers. Reminders of his failures.

He started with all the papers that involved his estate. Rainport Manor was a ruin, and an expensive one at that. His father hadn't cared very well for it after his mother had died, being on court and traveling frequently to gain any kind of support. The beggar Lord, Leon Velx, kneeling and whining, trying to invoke sympathy and making deals, gambling away his life and that of his children. Like we are breeding stallions. Alyn shuddered at the memories. His home was no home anymore. It had nothing in common with the pictures in the blue and green box. Even that was a lie.

He wondered if he would recognize it, and if it even mattered anymore.

The reports pertaining to Zella hurt even more. He fetched himself a bottle of wine and wandered around the small room, not ready to face the fact that he truly and forever would be the last of his house. Of his family.

It was a good thing, on one side. No one would have to endure people tampering with their feelings and making their presence as addicted as the drug he had been on so frequently. A drug that, coupled with his poor health and the circumstances, still made his body weak and his mind a mess. The Queen herself insisted that he was to be kept on it until all of the fight in him seemingly had died out.

House Velx would not be rebuilt. No matter his efforts to restore their image, there would be no children and no noble wife for him. There would be no legacy.

Zella would be fifteen now, and the thought made his stomach turn.

He downed his drink of wine and took another one.

The bottle was already half empty, dark green glimmering in the light of his room.

Pick your poison, Alyn thought. There was no antidote anyway.

It was getting late when he finally got rid of the last paper, the last list of creditors.

The words were blurred before his very eyes. Squinting, he could barely recognize them, eyes darting around the scrawled words and names. _Get glasses, boy, it is not like anyone would care enough. Or are you growing vain?_

Vanity was the last thing he would succumb to, even if only because of all the years. What was a brush worth if you couldn't eat? Or that silk if you didn't have a blanket to hold yourself warm and safe?

Glasses it was, then, he decided, rubbing his eyes again in fatigue. He tried to make sense of all the information as much as possible. But at most it was useless. In a fleeting and likely moronic moment, Alyn had scrambled all the little wealth he had together. He had purchased the trust of people, in vain hopes to find anything of worth. The stories were the same as the rumors and the same as Myra's last words.

Red folk leaving a deadly trail along the cities the king visited. People disappearing. Where to, he was not sure. There wasn't enough money and no one left to talk and investigate. It wasn't promising, at the very least. The only thing he knew for sure, was the blood was on Maven's hands. Those very hands Alyn had watched so many times, during so many occasions. Hands that had held pencils and turned pages, silent hands, calm and elegant. Hands that had held him, embraced him during the fleeting moments where he displayed as much as emotion as he could muster.

It was nothing new. It should have been nothing new. He knew by now there were secrets and dark, dark paths that Maven wandered alone, unfretted. Still, he had hoped to invoke something softer, with all his talk, bantering, and all the soothing circles his soul had rubbed along Maven's by his company. Alyn had no tears left anymore, though in some moments he wanted nothing but to sob and retreat into himself until nothing recognizable remained. His eyes stayed dry and his hurt echoed through him, combined with all the other hurt he caused to other souls.

And that Sentinel at his heels wasn't making things easier for him. He had committed treason the day he broke into that room. And the further he risked his life, playing this game, he was absolutely sure that as soon as Elara would return from wherever she was slithering about, he would be done. It had been very easy, breaking the lock and disabling the security cameras and now he knew she had made it easy for him. She had been living in his mind for years, just waiting for him to become too ambitious. It had been idiotic to think she wasn't aware of everything he did. So ironic, then, that he had no idea where she was.

He told himself he was fine with her monitoring as long she stayed away. Now that her absence stretched, he was curious, to put it mildly. She watched her son with keen, hawkish eyes, and those two were always seen together. He remembered well from his childhood, her grip and her control, and he remembered all the hours perched in with the both of them inside the war table room, watching their effort that seemed fruitless at the time. The guards told him- after a long line of persuasion, his mind wrapped around theirs- that she had taken her sentinels, guards, and a jet with her. Where to, no one knew. Not even the direction. It was as useless as the other bribery and lies.

Among other things, no one talked about the dead and missing. The court treated failure and weaknesses by forgetting, memories erased.

He noticed the absence of several names. Names renowned and old. There was dancing around some certain subjects. Ara Iral, for instance, was gone. He remembered seeing her, before the Bowl of Bones, before the explosions in the Sun Shooting. Not after. Sonya didn't say a word. But of course, she wouldn't. She was the perfect dancer, and mentioning something like that wouldn't have gained her anything, besides the gift of a rope to hang her by, arrange a supposed death by her very own hand.

It was the same with Julian.

Nothing suggested a hint to Julian Jacos' whereabouts. He was just gone, vanished into thin air. Alyn knew what that usually meant. People disappeared if someone with power didn't like what they had to say about their rule. Alyn was painfully aware of his youth, now, that he stared at the papers. His body and mind might have felt like the one of an old man, tired and bent under the weight of death and loss, but he had neither the wisdom nor the experience that came with age.

 _If only my uncle was alive,_ he thought, in a weak, desperate second. _Uncle Theron was always so apt and talented with people. He'd have told me how to work my way into all of this. He'd have kept me steady and made sure I was all myself, despite the pressure and the lies._

 _Would he, now?_ The small part that always bickered and sneered was doubting his attempts at persuading himself. _Your uncle was a scholar and a healer, not prone to dance at court. Ideally, he would have kept you out of it or maybe he would have visited. But you'd still have lost your heart and soul to Maven and your head would still be possessed by his mother. And now be a good little dog and stop playing these games. Apologize to his Majesty before he gives up on you and you go to your prison again._

His eyes wandered to the wanted posters sprawled out on the desk like they were maps.

Mare Barrow's face stared back at him, unrelenting, and even though Alyn never as much as exchanged a word with her, and even though she wasn't aware he even existed, he remembered her well.

He recalled her shaky steps, her uncomfortable twitch when she stepped out into a world that wasn't familiar. He remembered her steel and her spine, back straight and ready to face unimaginable horrors. He remembered the way she had walked and danced and talked. He remembered the flames and the chaos at the ball, and he remembered very well how Maven had tricked him. Again there was little to do. She was a ghost in the fog of war and chaos. The pot was stirred and hot on the flames, and beneath the calm appearance, only turbulent water remained, soon to drown out any semblance of normalcy.

Slow and subtle, he had said, but in the end, he had done none of it the moment he had asked Maven about the gallows. It was like all common sense had left his body. That anger and frustration were unhealthy, he knew it. To the both of them.

A lover's quarrel. He stared at the faces in front of him, branded into the articles, telling of notorious crimes. Telling nothing but lies.

There was little love left. And it was none that would ever be requited. So why didn't it stop hurting? Wasted energy really, to sulk like this. But he couldn't stop the hurt that made the heart hammer in his chest with utter pain or the senseless desire that wouldn't leave him alone. These days, he could only hope to catch a glimpse of Maven. He wished he could forget of the souls haunting him, of this pain that relentlessly accompanied him.

"Look at us," Alyn laughed, whispering words to the faces of Maven's brother and Mare Barrow. "Look at what we do. How old do I feel sometimes." He could tell of such things to pieces of paper, if only to lessen the pain.

There were many things left unsaid, many thoughts he didn't dare to whisper or to write down. Now, sitting on the small desk in this small chamber, all he could do was wait. He had stretched his hand out wide, and he would never stop, no matter if it would ever be taken. The guilt was too embedded in his soul, and the fear of it being true, of all hope lost, was too much. And where would he be without the remnants of his hope? Nowhere, no purpose would he have left, And for that, he lived. For that, he clung to hope.


	13. Her wild heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I didn't post in a while, but I'll be back shortly and more regular, I hope!

_Which one of my girls wants to be a princess today?_

The words repeated themselves in Zella Velx head as the guard opened her cell and hands dragged her out. They echoed in her soul as her naked feet scraped along the floor. She didn't fight them. The long hallway was more space than she had had in days, and though she was tired, the walking would do her good.

_I asked you: Which one of my girls wants to be like a princess?_

It was Lady Arvens voice, gnarly like a bark swaying in the wind. The voice that had stolen Zella Velx innocence. The first time the lady had them all lined up, all 6 of them, in a row not unlike the one the prisoners formed on the day they were walked. There they were, 6 little girls, none older than 12. Zella was the youngest, just turning 10.

All of them wore a cloth on their left arm in the color of their house. Lady Arven liked them clean and she liked to see where each belonged. Zellas was the only green one. She could never tell if the other girls had been kidnapped or came voluntarily. They looked better fed and dressed, at least. Only Sasha looked as ragged as herself. But that was because Sasha was fighting all the time.

_Don't be shy, my sweet darlings. You know you want to. Tell me._

Zella Velx had watched a few hands getting lifted. A few murmured answers.

_You, Sasha? You, Zella? There can only be one that sleeps with a full belly tonight._

Zella never slept with a full belly. She was scrawny and sickly. But the thought made her mouth water. Sasha looked just as hungry.

Which one will it be? The bed or the ground? Your choice, my girls.

Lady Arven opted for perfection in her little school of wayward girls. Judging by the size of her house and the clothes she wore, she made good money taking care of them.

And she had results. By the end of the first round, it was determined which girl was a prone fighter and which one was not.

With a bloody lip and a bruised elbow, Zella sat on the table with Sasha and one other girl. And she feasted. She remembered Sasha Marinos in a muddy brown. She remembered the day she had broken her will. Eyes wide open, mind confused and dazed and struggling under her mental grasp. Sasha hadn't been able to open her mouth and scream, and if she had, Zella would have lost. And so she made sure the girl didn't. She had wrestled her down. Sasha was older but Zella was tall for her age. With the iron and razor that was her grip, Sasha held no advantage. Zella's hand had clasped over her mouth, her legs holding the other girl flat on the ground. _Mercy_ , her eyes had begged up until the point she had just curled up into a tight ball, surrendering.

The feast had been bigger than ever.

_Silver mercy. There is no mercy. You won't find it for the children. You will not find it for your own poor skins. We calculate and we take the losses as the wins._

The tiles were white and spotless, mocking clean. Zella stared at the back of her guard. The woman's long braid swung up and down with every step. Like a pendulum, silver hair on a gray uniform. A magnetron, forming the catwalk of blank steel she stepped over now. The woman did not look at her, not even glancing in her direction as another guard breathed down Zella's neck, pushing her forward. They were still keeping their distance as good as orders allowed it. Little witch, one had dubbed her loathing, and the others had followed with the name. Zella had only a mocking low snort for that.

Everyone was even more on edge today, buzzing like the busy worker bees they were. SHE had to close. Paying a visit again. Zella wasn't surprised that her favorite worker bee was worried. That poor poor man. She regarded the captain with a long look, eyes stopping at the key he wore on his neck. The temptation was big to grip him, and wrestling the key off him. They would kill her before she could, of course, but in her dreams, she strangled him with the cord and held freedom in her hands. She had not forgotten how he had covered the incident with the guard. And she would never forget the punishment for it.

„Oh my dear Captain," she said instead, twisting her lips into something resembling a smile. _A lady has to smile if she wants to charm her admirers,_ Lady Arven Had said. There was no admirer for Zella Velx, no one was courting her but pain, the old childhood friend. It meant nothing in a cold world full of cruelty. She searched for his intentions while she spoke, but she found only cool calculated shrewd efficiency. The man was careful, and he didn't want to lose his head. „To what do I owe this pleasure?"

It was never a pleasure and they both knew it.

But if anything out of the many lectures and the fighting at Lady Arvens house had taught Zella Velx anything, it was that wars were won with strength but fights were won with dirty tricks.

And so Zella lurked around his mind, waiting for the opportunity. And it would come. She was so sure she could almost taste it.

„Lady Velx," Captain Iral towered over her, taking hold of her arm. His grip wasn't gentle and she hadn't thought it could ever be. But it was not as violent either, and again she thought of his orders to leave her face alone. „I was informed your recovery is complete and you are ready to serve again."

As ready as I will ever be, I imagine, Zella thought. „All my bruises have faded and the cracks in my ribs were mended." She confirmed. There were no scars or physical reminders but she kept the dreadful memory, the hatred for not being able to control something simple as breathing, and the fear. Fear is my friend, fear makes one survive. Fear makes one strong and loud if must be. „What task will I carry out today?"

„The interrogation chamber awaits you." He said, and while she walked too slow, he pushed her along. Zella held her head even higher, even though she detested the interrogation chambers. She wore pants too wide for her narrow hips and a grey shirt three sizes too big, with holes under her arms and ripped along the stitches of her sleeves. No brush had touched her long hair for months, and it was a wild tangled mess, clogged with blood, sweat and tied in knots. She was savage by now, and she saw herself in the eyes of her victims whenever she leaned over them. A wild and untamed creature, not a human. If she'd had grown fangs and claws none of them could have possibly have been more estranged by a little girl chaining their emotions.

The faces she passed were blank and tired. Most were not moving much, making an effort to even look at her. Broke souls in starving bodies. The silent stone made them weak just as herself.

Occasionally someone glared at her, full of anger and hatred, a sneer on the lips. That was the ones she'd put down. The ones that still had some fight in them left.

She had no pleasure in doing so. But that didn't matter to them and she could accept that. If you wear the anger as your armor, the hurt cannot paralyze you.

„You could have let your guards escort me." She looked up. She wanted him to see she was still far from broken. They'd never get her. "Something is bothering you. I could ease that worry. You simply need to stay calm for a moment and not try to throw me off."

„A tempting offer, my Lady," He said, lips pressing into a thin line. „But I prefer to keep my mind to myself." His hand pressed her arm for a second, and not in a reassuring way. The image of her working through his feelings seemed not at all to his liking, sparking disgust and animosity.„Your assets are needed elsewhere."

„Is that why you are worried, Captain?" she asked, falling in his hasty step now even though she was tired already and did not like the touch at all. She had really never liked to be touched. With the strange exception from the healing hands of Sara Skonos, every single touch in Corros was either violent or a necessary evil. „Because we both know I would be very stupid to try and take what does not belong to me." _Not without proper preparations, that was. They would shoot her. She wasn't delusional or reckless enough yet._

„I imagine you learned your lesson." He said and Zella's face twisted again, but more of a grimace this time.

They passed a security door, and the magnetron did her work.

Zella watched closely, but of course, she knew there was no way for her to imitate the woman's ability. If she was to flee or even considering it, she needed a perfect way out.

The key on Captain Irals neck though…that was sweet currency.

„And whatever worries me is no concern of yours." His voice was snide. Now he was not so court anymore. The hostility was like a very hot pepper on the tip of her tongue. At least there was no more pretending. She pulled her arm free with force, stumbling back on the steel, almost slipping.

Her chains made loud, clinking noises in the clinical silence.

„Well then." She held herself up, lifting her chin. Through the pain in her wrists and the shivering feelings crawling over her skin. „Is there any other thing to discuss or shall we proceed?"

„An advice, Lady Velx," he said, and his face didn't show anything. „ We have important visitors. Behave and eventually, you can regain your privileges."

Interesting enough, he was considering this vital, important. She needed a second to piece it together. He wanted her to show the best she had in store. He had no idea what she had in store. Cowering before his superiors. He was nervous.

So it was really all about **HER**.

 **SHE** had never paid her much attention. Not more than a glance, an examination. As long as Zella kept still. Zella was quite fine with that.

She had encountered that woman only once, That encounter had been enough to feed her and fuel more dreams of escape and fire for nights.

In this world of fear and stone, **SHE** was an almighty being, ice-carved beauty and fiery madness. Zella had felt many minds. She had encountered sadness and anger, passion and fear, but nothing had ever prepared for this.

 **SHE** , of course, was not letting anything show. She was all cold stone. Like the walls forming Zella's cell. Sleek and without a stain. Without a weak point. A part of Zella was scared. The other part was most impressed. Zella wished she had been that untouchable.

Zella had seen the face before, in Lady Arvens house, but only once. There was a blurry memory, and she remembered Arvens admiration. She couldn't really remember. She bristled under the glare of the Queen, but she knew inspections of her person by now and didn't dare to move too much. Their eyes met as Zella lifted her gaze under a knotted mess of dark brown hair. That was when something hard hit her back. Zella stumbled forward.

"You bow before her Highness," Her guard voice hissed at her.

And so Zella Velx had bowed deep for the Queen.

Now, with her grey ragged form walking through the cracks of minds and prying them open, she didn't want to feel another pair of eyes on her back.

There was no helping it.

That woman was dangerous. She was above and beyond it all. Nothing Zella could have done at this exact second would have made a difference. Rebellion was punished and defiance needed to be quiet or you'd lose your tongue.

Zella sat on the chair, in a small cone of light that shone around her, painting a halo on her matted hair. She watched her opposite closely.

The woman wasn't very compliant. Zella respected strength and defiance.

She would feel no pleasure to torture that poor thing with pain that wasn't really there.

„I can stop if you talk." Zella offered, giving her voice a neutral tone. „We both know this isn't going to work. My job is to make you talk. Eventually, I will. Spare us time. I am not interested in hurting you."

„You are a child." The woman said, split lips and bloody hands showing someone had already started to work on her.

„ That has no meaning," Zella answered. And it really didn't.

Drawing Sara Skonos face had made her remember something, invoking something soft, embedded in the diamond shards that was her heart.

It was small and it had never really grown, like a seed in a drought, hiding under the earth. Now the seed had rooted, little sprouts, holding tightly and resisting.

The interrogation chamber had one advantage. It gave her very specific inside. It told her stories about rebellion, about blood. It told her about destruction.  
Zella listened closely. She had been locked up far too long, never connecting with the things around her, but she wanted to. And so, however gruesome and dark it became, she listened to them.  
They taught her things about cruelty, a lesson she didn't need.  
They taught her about the disposition of any figure displeasing the king. Stories of intrigues, of blood. There was a man who'd secretly had still held support to the king's older brother, and the guards encouraged her to be her worst.  
She didn't need to, he was scared and tired to death already.  
Norta was burning, and she didn't just mean the ash lands. A powder keg set up to explode.  
Zella was curious who could survive that explosions.

Days dragged on in her personal hell and she didn't know why she was strong enough to push through. But she did. And whatever it was worth, she slowly gained some of her old privileges back.

With every shove and every glare, she got angry. And the anger fueled her flames. The pain was safely closed up. She wouldn't let it overtake.

In all her dreams she set Corros Prison on fire and the remains of her dreams, images of ashes and cinder, of bare feet running free, kept her warm.

Things had been static noise, rushing in her ears and trying to take her down for a long time. But some things changed now, inside her, despite the darkness surrounding her.

Sara Skonos was the beginning. The broadcast was the next one.

From time to time there was an occurrence where people were simply shown images and it was just breaking them as effectively as she could have buried in their souls.

He was the same age her brother must have been, but that was about all the parallels she could draw. His eyes were blue, and they stared right through everything. A metal carved crown of molten flames and gems sat on his dark hair.

She studied the pale face, leaning on her hand. When he opened his mouth, she knew what words would come out.

It was a tale as old as mankind, about betrayals and lies, about resistance and defiance, about blood and tears.

The words were well chosen, and he delivered every line. Occasionally there was blurry footage and grainy pictures. Terrorists and murderers, thieves and liars.

Zella stared at the picture of the girl. She didn't believe a word. And it didn't mean a thing to her.

It wasn't like she was stone cold for all the needs people had. There were fights worth fighting, and strength was admirable in resistance.

There was a war waging for hundred years. There were death and hunger and there was nothing a girl in a prison could have done about it.

It was all about surviving in here, keeping an identity, not becoming a faceless stranger in a pile of corpses. Not unlike the battlefield outside.

This country was dying. It was destroying itself from the inside. It was a rotten apple and the maggots moved inside. And it deserved whatever the Scarlet Guard or the Lakelanders were doing to it.

Places like this were proving it.

Places like Corros Prison.

She was so angry for a second she was sure she'd convert it on the people she was watching, people forced to look at the screen and see their hopes trashed in the cheapest way possible.

Instead, she kept the rage and fire inside and watched over them, over those souls. Someone would be begging for mercy under her grip or the guards sooner or later again.

Mercy, oh no, the only mercy here was a swift death.

The camera panned and Zella Velx stared dead blank. There, in the background, a figure caught her eye. He was small, almost blending into the wall in his black coat. For the tiniest bit of moments, he was in the focus. Dark brown hair cut short, almost shaved off on some parts. It wasn't like in prison, where they sometimes shaved heads for humiliation. This was almost fashion, the haircut showed off all the fine structured bones of his pale face. Very green eyes gaze lowered and concentrated. She'd only ever remembered those eyes, all those years. She remembered him sneaking into her room, arms warm, holding her. The pictures she clumsily had drawn and slipped under the door to his locked chamber.

Zella couldn't move as she stared at her brother, in the entourage of the new king.

„ I think she's having a stroke." The voice didn't sound immensely sad while stating that.

„When was this speech recorded?" Zella asked, not even trying to conceal her bewilderment. Her head turned around fast and abruptly. Hair flying, she stared at her guard.

"Why should I tell you that?"

She could barely conceal her anger anymore, snapping at him. "Because I am asking so friendly."

The others watched with interest but didn't step in. Maybe they hoped she'd attack them again. She wasn't exactly popular around the guards.

He stared back at her and shrugged. „A week ago? They made it into this pretty little thing with all the flashy pictures as fast as they could. Why do you care?"

A week. He was safe and alive and still at court. He traveled with them. He probably was immensely helpful for keeping crowds compliant. He'd probably made them eat out of their royal hands.

A week.

He was so close, in that second. She wondered if he even knew she was still alive.

She thought about his face, trying to burn it right into her memory. He had been small but good looking, a little birdish with that fine bones and big eyes. And he had looked pale and tired and sick under all the nice haircuts and colors.

„I don't." she lied, pulling her shirt down, smoothing over it like that would help. „ Now get me to my cell. I am done for today."

„You heard her Ladyship," the grey-haired woman mocked.

The next time she saw Captain Iral, she didn't just lurk in his mind. She wove her inner being into his feelings, in ways she found uncomfortable and disgusting. It was almost intimate, like an embrace or a shared secret. But it worked. She didn't outright influence him, she didn't try to make him friendly. But she seized control, slowly, like she had learned the day she had broken Sasha. It was all about patience. About waiting for the right move. Everyone had weak points in their defense. She'd only need to find the Captain's.

She could feel the hostility seeping into her inner self, the need to obey and the violence, but she didn't flinch away. By the end of the week, she was the favorite again, restored through carried out tasks,and fake smiles, and she ate and paced in her cell, trying to hold her body upright. Always behaving, never resisting, well, not outright. The guards still called her names and they gritted their teeth at each other. But being strong was all that mattered. She didn't even know how or why. All that mattered was that she was stronger than him and she intended to keep it that way. She hoped her brother was strong too.

_Have your power, your weapons, make me do your dirty work, I'll not refuse you._

But give me some more time, some intel, and I will get you and me out, she thought, not trying to say it. She only smiled at Sara Skonos face in her diary. And if I can, I will seize the opportunity. I will not have mercy. I will be what I was born to do. I will be free for once.

She didn't dare to hope for family, or peace. All she sought was wind on her face and blood on her hands.

Her wild heart, as Lady Arven had called it, demanded dark brooding vengeance. And she would get it. Even if it was her end.

_Maybe I will never be a princess, a queen or even a noble Lady, Arven, but I will be myself._


	14. No one pines for the listener

The days became shorter and the nights longer, if only to vex the uneasiness that festered within Alyn, to feed the apprehension that threatened to tarnish what little he had accomplished at his time in the court. The darkness contorted to an enemy again, something he couldn't battle nor accept. Light distracted the shadows only for so long, the darkness always remained, waiting for him. It refused to recede, taunting him when his hope diminished. He refused to sleep in his bed, to lay awake with nothing but doubt and trepidation. It helped too little when his mind was far too preoccupied.

Instead of tossing and turning in vain, he sat on his desk and stared at papers until he couldn't distinguish clearly between parchment and his sorry excuse of a penmanship, far too incoherent to be nothing but some scrawling. His body crumbled into a defeated mess too often, eyes bloodshot and hand trembling. His frequent intoxication did not help. Most nights he fell asleep if he managed to procure some wine. He had convinced himself he was drinking for the sake of his state of mind, to relax and to soothe his agitated, quivering senses. In truth, he drank alone, and he drank so much he couldn't possibly count the slender, elegant glasses.

_Something to collect_ , he mused to himself.

A drink didn't erase the anguish, pain, or the sorrow away, but at least it kept them at bay, let it wane and subside for as long as he dared. He was at an edge of a precipice, each desperate gulp a renewing vigor, a temporary motivator. It was a chasm, constantly at the dim recesses of his mind. He was never satisfied. The more he nurtured the urge, the more it took, constant in its pursuit of excitement or the visceral numbing sensation. He kept it a secret, of course. He was far too aware of how others would regard his predicament, what gossip would spread behind their bejeweled hands and wolfish smiles.

Alyn knew of the familiar revulsion and disgust, the artificial pity that spoke more of their intentions than any word. He was there when Tiberias VI was alive and breathing, Tiberias was not spared from gossip. He supposed that their reasoning to drown themselves in wine was similar, to numb pain when it threatened to emerge. With the old king, it was to numb the pain of the death of his late wife, Coriane Jacos. He could understand why. From the portraits that Tiberias collected to the enamored, almost soft-spoken words, he cared more for her in the afterlife than he ever did for his new queen, Elara. She must have been worthy of such passionate loyalty to inspire him to turn his back to his beloved Silver traditions and honor bound customs, to simply marry for love than to select a queen from the arduous process of Queenstrial. With Alyn, it was to numb the guilt that seemed more far-reaching and consuming than ever before.

* * *

In the very early hours of the morning, his head was often heavy, throbbing with an oncoming headache, black fuzzy spots overtaking him. Sometimes he let himself wonder how he had ended in the bathroom or woke up in his bed without any recollection of it. At least he never left his chamber, not idiotic enough to attempt and give in to the reasons for his ever constant pain. That would have been a walk of shame, a mistake he couldn't mend with a trained smile of a mere pet, or a senseless small talk exchanged between bored lords and ladies, all too curious to absorb more information, to hold the reins of a fascinating specimen. They seemed convinced that he had somehow managed to gain the passing fancy of Maven. It was far too laughable, really. The king was far too ensnared with Mare Barrow, a rebel, than to spare him a glance. He wouldn't have minded in the past, would not have taken offense. He wished he could return to the almost state of indifference. It was much too tiring to pretend, far too fatiguing. The little sleep he received was not of the healing and restoring kind. It was made of dead things that wrapped their tendrils around him until he woke up, screaming and shaking, chest so heavy he couldn't breathe in fear.

The past would never let go of him, not till the day he was dead, corpse buried and laid to rest six feet under the rich earth. He would never escape. As it was, he felt nothing but lonely. Irritation tried its best to mask it. Sometimes he caught himself scratching at his arms as if the digging nails and the burning anger were keeping him alive and feeling. His mood was dark and foul. He concealed it behind smiles and laughter, behind clever words and bows, careful to not let his mask slip. It was the only thing he had left after all.

He performed as instructed, laughed, and spoke when needed, trying to be charming and to gain as much footing as possible. He was surrounded by people at all times. He still felt alienated and it was pathetic.

He felt the emotions of a hundred people every day. They were his silver lining, filling him with guilt, rage, and confusion. It should have accumulated in him, filled him to the brim, yet he had never felt more empty and hollowed out, desperate to cling to what others felt, for them to linger in him to no avail.

His task was rather easy compared to what he was forced to in the past. Wherever he went, he made them understand, he made them believe. He made them admire, respect, or approve. He was as much an accessory to show the king's status as the crown or the cape, to signify the power Norta held over its subjects, a show of silver might and power. Unlike the cape and the stolen burning crown that rested against Maven's hair, he was a lot less close to Maven, always staying a few feet away.

The distance wasn't only physical. Every time Alyn Velx and Maven Calore needed to interact, they did it quick, cold and with as little words as possible-precise. It was reminiscent of the surgeon like nature of Elara's ability. Although he supposed Maven was far more accustomed to that than he could ever be. Maven avoided him as if Alyn carried a contagious illness.

All the words in the world could not have fixed the bridge that set them apart now, all because of him and his inability to remain silent on what he felt for Maven. That he loved Maven and would never be able to stop, no matter what was set before him. And that Maven would never love him, could not feel the sense of need that Alyn had grown to feel. That he slowly, but surely grew tired of Alyn and his affections. It was all too clear. He'd known it from the very start and he had dreaded the thought. It was a casualty in a fight long lost.

Alyn Velx had accepted the fatality long ago. If he could only leave it alone, let it diminish into nothingness. Even though he was well aware that it was impossible.

Maven's mind was a firestorm aflame, blazing in the most unhealthy colors and hues. The gripping anger and obsession was so vicious and malice-filled that it hurt and burnt Alyn badly. How did he ever hope to tame such a destructive, depraved mind? How could he mend the fragments of such a twisted, morbid boy? His heartbeat was a leaping, kicking entity in his chest whenever he felt the flames flicker on his mind. But it hurt as much as it was welcomed. He surrendered to the heat.

At least he deemed himself on his own two feet now.

He remembered very well how dependent and weak he had been, clinging to every bit attention he could salvage. Like he was starving and only a glance at his way from those blue, intense eyes could feed and satisfy him.

Truly, nothing more than a dog seeking crumbs Maven was somerciful to spare.

Alyn's influence and meager power grew, as much as they grew apart.

He did not utter any more words that could endanger him. There was nothing at all he could have said to mend it. He had always tried nothing more than to be on Maven's side, as he was instructed. And strangely enough, he still was. He could not follow the trail of hunts and the bloodshed, couldn't stop the lies and the hatred that brewed. He had grown to detest the king. but he still was loyal to the boy, or to the lingering, burning hope that this boy had left some traces in the person he set his eyes on every day. There was a hole and whatever he tried, he couldn't fill it regardless. Or at least, that should have been the very obvious choice. What was hope when it only scorched him alive?

* * *

The start of his day had been awful. Not awful in a way that his coat was creased or one of his teacups had fractured again. He had been indulging the urge to drink far too much, and there was another kind of a headache than the typical one, making his stomach turn at the sight of what constituted as his meager breakfast. Holding his head under the faucet, submerging his face and ignoring the sick feeling in his intestines making him want to vomit at the scent of the food had helped. Water dripped down his arm, over the scars a dog's bite had left so many years ago.

But in the end, nothing could really cure the dreadful hangover he was suffering from, and he regretted deeply that he had even tried to go along all the way. Foolish Alyn Velx had hoped drinking with every person of interest was a good, reasonable idea. While the alcohol did make him spout clever words and kept the anxiety at bay, it also warmed him in a way, like no person ever had attempted. And probably never would.

He could only hear the faint rushing of the water and his breath.

He had never liked looking in the mirror. Now he did, for a while. He studied the fine curve of his cheeks, green eyes big and too trustworthy. He knew what people said about him. He wasn't handsome in any way, not conventional. A doe, someone had once said, in their drunken haze.

A doe.

Prey.

Frail and soft.

The drugs and the alcohol had left small traces here and there, from the colour of his pale face down to the shaking of his hands and the shifting of his eyes. For now he could conceal it.

He even looked down, over his too small body and the bones standing out. Over ribs carrying a scar from a knife, stabbing him in desperation. Telling stories of something that could have been good to look at, maybe even handsome, but never had recovered from the years of malnourishment and sickness. A fitting prison for a mind like his.

His hair was still wet when he dressed, putting on his shirt (buttons, blighted little things, who had invented them?) and slipping into his coat.

A horrid start on a new day, in a new city, with a full schedule. Duties to fulfill. There were people to convince of treason and horrendous acts and a country to maintain, on the brink of collapse due to pressure from all sides. Alyn Velx was well aware of what he did, and who he did it for.

There was no denying it. He was a weaver, the last one alive.

And all he ever weaved was chaos and mischief like an ancient being on a tapestry.

_Amends_ , he called it, if only to ease the burden.

_Crimes_. That was what it truly was.

Another delivered message for him to peruse. He knew the envelope by now, and he recognized the writing. It had unsettled him like every time he opened them.

His eyes settled on the words and Alyn pressed the heel of his hand hard under his eye to keep calm and concentrated.

**I am glad you finally wrote back. I was sure you had forgotten me. Thank you for your words. They mean a lot to me when there is nothing good around to distract me.**

_Nothing good seems to be an understatement, my friend,_  Alyn thought, fighting the nauseous feeling. _And my words are pale and empty, condolences that could have been sent to anyone. Which is not what you deserve but all I can give._

**I have been put out of my position at the hospital and back into the legion. They say if I don't oblige, I will be punished. You know how it goes. I accepted, of course. My gun is loaded again. We have marching orders. Maybe we will pass through Corvium, there was a bulletin stating the new king would visit the city soon. If you are still accompanying him, and if there was a chance, I would love to see you again. If only for a second. You are the only friendly face left I know is safe.**

_Safe. No, there was never safety or refuge._ Alyn stared at the letter even harder, sighing. There was nothing to say. Nothing to write back.

**Give my mother my regards. I am sure by now you are acquainted.**

**I am sorry about Zella.**

**Keep care.**

_Keep care, keep care,_  says the soldier to the unharmed fool living at a palace.

_Marching orders and back in the midst of battle. He'd go into the ashlands, into the Choke, and he would die._

And no one would care if he breathed or suffocated on his own blood.

Just as unfair and infuriating, he knew someone else had read every word, and deemed it harmless enough to deliver it. A security officer likely, allowing it to bypass hundreds of precautions.

These words were meant for him. But other eyes had stolen them from the privacy of his hands.

There was anger again, a sour, bitter taste in his mouth, and with a crinkling sound, the paper crumbled in his tight grasp, until it was nothing but a wadded ball of pain and ink, destroyed.

Yes, two more smaller cities, two more meaningless visits. Crowds and an endless train of council meetings, and hope he felt almost was lost. And then they'd reach Corvium. And Rainport Manor was even closer, his childhood and all the slights and his sins of past clutching his neck, like hands threatening to snap it. And with his past so close, there was no one to share it with, no one trustworthy to confide in.  _What a shame._

He looked over to his nightstand, with the blue and green box resting there, along with a crimson scarf that inched along the small wooden table like a serpent. Now he wished he'd allowed Elane Haven to get rid of it.

**You can tamper emotions,**  the voice reminded in a gleeful tone,  **but not your own. Find the irony in that.**  He wanted to scoff at that train of thought. Maven would not haunt him like this if he could only tamper with his own emotions. How fortunate it must have been for Maven then, to have such an obedient lap dog that returned whenever beckoned, because of blind love.

He felt lonelier than ever stepping out of the contained space of his rooms and into the artificial world of lies and deceit.

His next steps had to be calculated. As calculated as the steps he made, and the way he wore his hair. It was downright cruel and it hurt. The requirement to do this to himself, to taint himself into something unrecognizable. He still couldn't stop. He had no choice. Did he ever have a choice?

His hands were trembling, remembering words about a testimony of character he had heard.

Look what you are making me do, he thought, but without any ill intentions. It was all but his own fault to be driven by ghosts.

He tried his best to work through his mind, to sort through the pain and to keep control.

As much as his personal problems weighed him down, he still had more than enough ambition left. He had to know.

Knowledge was power. And the truth was a rare, precious gem hidden in pitch black coal.

He tried his best to work through his mind, to sort through the pain and to keep control.

As much as his personal problems weighed him down, he still had more than enough ambition left. He had to know.

Knowledge was power. And the truth was a rare, precious gem hidden in pitch black coal.

He remembered the little information Sonya Iral fed him from time to time, like one would feed a bird with breadcrumbs. She wasn't reckless enough to give him anything truly viable, just some mentioning or a name dropped meaningless in a conversation they exchanged.

He held respect for her skill set, be it the refined manners or the ability to hold her head over ice cold and ever-rising, the capricious tide of the water, wherever it may lead. And he took her words graciously as they danced around each other.

The talk had shifted a little after their first encounter. He wasn't only just some stilted lover and flatterer any longer. There were some envy and a reluctant sense of respect, and when he seized the opportunity, the talk became more useful.

Weaver Alyn Velx, of a destroyed body and vanished house, desperately attempting to raise his rank and status.

_Let them say it,_  he thought, trying to stand straight and tall, firm despite everything. It was a poor impression, but an attempt nonetheless. Words were always spoken, and no matter what he would attempt. They could be stopped as much as breathing and beating hearts. But he would not do harm to them.

He had made a map, an indecipherable piece of paper concealed between dead family and debts. Dots connected by scrawled lines, trying to understand the importance of every stop, every time Maven moved, every crafted maneuver against the Scarlet Guard.

He knew enough about obsession and motivation to realize the personal matter behind it all, staring at Mare Barrow's face, gazing back at him from her permanent spot on the chaos at work.

The lack of information about her whereabouts and the foul mood of the king whenever he returned was enough to suggest she was at least, for some time, out of reach.

It wasn't the most reassuring thing. But it was worth something, and for that he was glad.

* * *

Friends were harder to find than enemies among his people. He had always known that. The lecture of a dog biting his hand and the frozen smiles had taught him well all his life.

He didn't aspire true friendship now. He could not afford to let people get close. He had trusted Julian Jacos, because memories had guided him back to his childhood, back to his uncle. The scholar and the teacher. He had trusted Vael Gliacon because in a moving world full of confusion and uncertainty it had held promise to be comfort.

And where had they both gone?

One had vanished without a trace, and he was fairly sure who held responsibility for that. The other one was sent to a battlefield to punish him.

The closest thing he had to a friendship was Elane Haven. But she was scarcely around now, and all he ever dared to confide to her was his situation on court, manners and looks . Their initial friendship and closeness had faded to something distant since the day he had started to drink.

And perhaps he could not stand the brimming feeling in her stomach whenever Samos was around. It only reminded him of things he couldn't have and didn't understand to a full extent.

Maybe it was for the best that they parted. She was gentle and smart, and if she would get hurt because he made mistakes again he would never have forgiven himself.

Another Lady had taken her place at his side, one that was not as gentle but more of the predators. One of the pack, howling, teeth sharp.

A doe and a wolf in sheep's clothing, he thought,amused, is that not to people's liking?

He would prove them he was no prey at all. Once and for all.

He had invited her for a walk in the courtyard, and to his immense surprise, she was willing to entertain. It was a good development as any, he needed every bit of support and a bolster to his reputation and web of influence.

He still felt unsteady on his legs and hadn't eaten much, and he doubted he could make the best of it. Still, Alyn stood straight and moved with as much stride as he could manage.

Sonya Iral was blooming and lively in comparison to his pale face and hurting body.

She moved on silent and graceful feet, dressed in heels and trousers, with russet eyes so sharp behind a carefully painted face. The makeup was a lie as any, to give the impression of vulnerability as opposed to revealing her ability and honed intellect.

"I am sure you have guessed what this is about," he said, taking a deep breath of the cool October air. Reveling in the feeling of the cool air kissing his face, caressing the pale skin. His neck was bare, despite the cold being able to creep into his collar. The scarf had remained on his desk.

They walked in silence, for a while, arms intertwined, hands joined, like dear old friends, not willing to part. Alyn saw the covert glances, and he had heard the words already. Speculations about his intentions, his interest in someone clearly high born and well situated, when he had nothing but debts and ruins to his disposal. He almost enjoyed it, for once it wasn't pity or mock. It was pure jealousy that Sonya Iral was granting him her time, so he basked in it.

"If only I knew," she said, playing coy again. Her coy nature could be frustrating or entertaining, depending on his mood. "You have me on my toes, hoping and fearing."

"Perhaps I longed to see you again, my lady." He said, squeezing her fingers gently, pretending it was a very different hand he'd held many times since his childhood. "You do certainly leave an impression."

"I can return that compliment. You have very expressive eyes, Lord Velx." A warning, a threat, hidden behind those harmless words that were no true compliments at all.

"One of my many merits."

"Of that I am sure. Please tell me," She stopped on her tracks, in the middle of the yard, for everyone to witness, and he noticed with a certain amount of interest that she did not let go of his arm. And so he played along, holding onto her, feeling the warmth of her body at his side. It wasn't enough to warm him. "What is on your mind?"

_As if I would ever share that with you willingly._

"I wondered, and please forgive me my insolence," he smiled at her, and she smiled back with just as much force behind it. "Would you happen to be willing to accompany me the next time we move on to some small gathering? I know it is merely the same old faces, but I had sincerely hoped you were not only interested in participating, but in attending with me."

"That is a pleasant surprise." She said. And he felt their chase again. There was nothing pleasant or real in the way she held unto him or stared at him, but he was just as fake. This game between them was becoming a constant in his life, if he was successful in holding her interest, that was. He better should get used to it fast. She was, after all, a powerful ally, and an access to her vast knowledge would be more than useful. "I was so sure you were attending with Evelyn Provos."

Of course she would say that.

"Oh, I was considering that." He admitted. "But Lady Provos will understand if I can make room for another visit in their parlor. Such a gracious woman, and Evelyn too." Every bit of persuasion and charm he could possibly possess went right into the way he leaned closer. "I cannot lie, Lady Iral," he whispered, voice low. "You captured my attention and ensnared me. What else is a poor man to do but hope for the best?"

"Flattering me again, are you? Very well." She sighed, lowering her gaze. "How could I decline such a well worded and bold invitation? Time is so precious, so we should enjoy it."

The implication of his time running out sent another shiver running down his spine. "I would be very happy to accompany you, Lord Velx."

"I am pleased beyond words," he gave her hand another squeeze. In truth, he was terrified by the implications of her words. Was there a real threat? Maybe her words were empty. She had her way with them, just as Maven did.

When they parted, she had planted a seed of caution and fear in his soul. It was one of many and the ground was fertile enough to let it root and sprout immediately.

His shadow, the Sentinel had retreated for the time being, as long as he had been accompanied Lady Iral, lurking in a safe distance but still in earshot. Now that he was alone, the man came closer. It irritated him, but the air had helped to clear his head. If he broke into a fit now, people would see. And that could not happen, could it? He wasn't just a pet anymore, no longer an outcast. He was now fully committed to playing the role of a fine lord. As such it would harm him in ways, he didn't want to test his increasing temper. The last time it had happened there had been words spoken he could not ever forget, words he could not clear.

He was sure everyone had a good glance at his bright green-clad frame. It was not the faded and stained green he had worn for almost forever but a brilliant, bright forest green. Striking to the eye. Like the scales of a lizard, the color seemed to shift and change along his sleeves. He found it silly and vain, and he didn't care for it, but there were enough people that did care for such things.

He was on time. Smoothing over his sleeves for one last time, he concentrated.

His mind spread out, and in the distance, on the other side of the door, he felt something familiar, so familiar it stung him like needles in his heart.

And then he almost stumbled back when he felt something different.

Ice cold and sleek, that very familiar presence had returned into their system, from wherever she had been.

The Queen had returned. His blood felt frozen in his veins, as cold as her mind.

Now he knew at least why Sonya Iral had insisted that time was so precious.

_Be calm,_  he told himself.

_Breath in deep. If she was about to charge you with unfound treason, she would have the moment she returned. She had eyes here even though she was absent. You've worked hard. You can do this. You are not a child anymore. There are worse things living in your head than Elara Merandus._ If only he believed his own words.

He thought of the cold whisper that had caressed his face in an argument.

**I am the only thing standing between you and going back to prison.**

And how could Alyn Velx find out if that still held true if he didn't brave himself and stepped through the door now?

Being brave. Being strong. Never ever had he wanted to be anything but. He thought of the words his uncle had said, so many years ago.

You, Alyn Velx, are the future. Make it a bright one.

How utterly disappointed he would have been. His father, on the other hand, would have prided himself on Alyn's success as the tool he had raised.

_I am a Lord now,_  he told himself.  _Not just a tool. I laugh and smile, I bend the will of men that have fought the war and I weave the souls of powerful people. I have worth. And I will no longer be scared._

It only helped so far. He didn't fully believe himself.

There was too much panic and fear, too little self-confidence and comfort.

Then he was reminded he wasn't alone in his head, not now. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, gnawing teeth on flesh, pain spreading.

He straightened his back. He took a deep breath. And then he opened the door.

She stood on the desk, alone, and clearly, there was something in the air. Something unpleasant to be resolved.

She was not in a good mood, that much he could easily gather.

Her blue eyes took him in, eyes glazing over, scrutinizing all of his faults, and the recent improvements in his appearance. She knew better than anyone how much appearances mattered. He doubted she found him unsuspecting. But did she knew of his intentions, his motives? Her lips curled into a slight smile. Oh. His ridiculous coat. He felt terribly stupid for looking the way he did. His newly styled hair.

She sure did see the trembling in his clasped hands, hastily folded behind his back.

"I was wondering when you would accompany us, Lord Velx."

He had forgotten how wrong and inadequate he felt close to Elara Merandus. His whole essence was bristling and whirling, heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep himself contained. To be the person the court recognized him as now.

"Your Highness," he greeted and despite everything telling him to display the smallest amount of flattery, he bowed in the most graceful way his small form could muster. "The world seems brighter now that you returned."

"I am sure it does." Her smile only widened, and the smile was something so meaningful, he couldn't stop but think of all his failures and miscalculations. He felt like a scorned child, she had an uncanny ability to make one feel such things, regardless of their age or status. She also had enough leverage for the rest of his life. The smile was a promise and a threat. Like everything that had to do with her.

Alyn Velx bit his lip and smiled back.

He turned his head to only find Maven, no,  **the king**  glancing at his way in return. It was their usual stance, a look reserved for the court, not lingering too long. Brushing over the surface. Meaningless. Alyn wondered if their glances amounted to how much merit and worth he held on Maven's mind. How much was a pawn worth to for Maven?

If only he knew, to ease his peace of mind, to convince himself that he meant more than a tool. Perhaps he meant nothing at all.

**If you were nothing, Alyn Velx, I wouldn't bother to look after you.**

He remembered the words laced with something akin to a concoction of disappointment and wrath all directed at him, the anger that had welled in him, the barriers placed between them ever since that accursed argument. It was difficult to even glance at him now out of a council meeting, to meet the eyes that inflicted such feelings upon him. The eyes that haunted his nightmares and anxious visions of his future and what it could possibly hold.

_If only it was easy to find truth in any word that had managed to pass between them_.

They spoke less to each other with every passing day, till their only meaningful communication was terse postures and Alyn's almost tangible shame and frustration. He suspected that Elara greatly approved of this development between the two of them, eyes boring down at him and his now averting eyes with a hard glint of her eye, the corner of her mouth twisting into an all too recognizable pleased smile. It was a shame that there was no warmth behind it, nothing but cruel satisfaction. Perhaps Maven did not recount their argument, although he doubted Elara allowed her son to be truly left alone, surely someone was overseeing the king's actions, ensuring that her son performed as she instructed. Perhaps an another Merandus member at court? Some of them became more active than ever before right after Maven's coronation, surely to land in the king's good graces and obtain his approval. Alyn didn't dare hope for much privacy, not in a court with such prevalent gossip and a webwork of deceit. The truth would be revealed, regardless of whatever scheme brew. But he could only hope to manipulate the flow and spread of information, the timing of it.

The truth was, he didn't know what to believe anymore.

The truth was, he wanted nothing more than to be proven wrong.

The truth was that he was scared of what was to come and what had occurred between them.

The truth hurt and blinded him with pain, ever present and monstrous, binding him.

His selfish hope suffocated him, left him wounded and vulnerable.

Sonya had been right when she had said the truth was a very dilative term.

_We have been here so many times._  Alyn thought, half trapped in tremendous sadness and the amusement and fatigue of a man stepping up to the gallow, ready for his noose.  _We have danced and talked, with lies on our tongues and thinly veiled anger in our hearts._  A never-ending circle. Standing between them, in the middle of the room, ready to be pushed along the chess board.

He tasted the foul mood, took in the indifference and the anger that flickered, burning, so very alive. This didn't bode well. Not at all.

Maven in foul mood took all his tempered energy and patience until Alyn felt drained dry and hollow, trying to allow something good and gentle into the dark void, to appease the maelstrom that raged in him. He could only give, could only be taken until he had nothing left to offer. Trying to soothe and to placate, a constant tug of wills. Not that he had been called for that much lately, Maven rather preferred to isolate himself and plan, hiding in wait. For what, he couldn't fully decipher. Sonya Iral would be a useful resource to consult then if he made it out alive.

But with Elara Merandus clearly displeased, the stakes amounted more than an angry vase smashed against a wall or hatred burning like a sensation in his chest. Her words wouldn't only hurt and break him. They would sentence him. As much as the king was tiring of him and his company, Maven still at least held the tiniest fraction of interest. That interest, however small, withheld a punishment. She didn't have that limitation.

He knew too well how he clashed against her walls of ice, how she could move and manipulate him like a puppet, with concealed strings. He wouldn't be the first.

"I did not mean to interrupt," he apologized, bowing his head only lightly in what he dearly hoped signified respect for her time. "If this is a personal matter, your Majesty, I will take my leave again if needed." He tried his best to compose his voice, to at least not let it follow in the footsteps of what she perceived as a foolish change in his appearance.

A beat passed, a strained moment as her eyes glinted at the display. Was she amused at his performance, was she entertained enough to spare him? He remained taut and rigid, waiting.

"You will stay," Her voice was cutting through the air like the cold wind, frigid and unfeeling. She could care less. He had forgotten how she commanded his fear so flawlessly during her absence. Perhaps he had become too self-assured. He could only hope that she would make a reminder of where he stood, as opposed to a death sentence.

"This matter is as much your concern as your doing, I suspect." Elara continued, tone sharp as she intertwined her fingers together.

**She knows, she knows,**  the voice in the back of his mind whispered, far too content to play on his fright.  **She knows everything.**

He felt the tremble in his hands getting stronger and more pronounced, nails digging into his sensitive skin and moving to hide his uneasiness and the physical weakness, anything to conceal.

He knew there was no helping it. He was still looking over to the king, in waiting, breath shallow.

"You heard my mother." Was all the help he received from Maven, accompanied by the small gesture of a hand, resting on a table and indicating him to comply all at once.

"Very well," Alyn said, fighting with the urge to worry the flesh of his lips, a habit that he had almost rid with time. He desired nothing more than to curl to himself and hide from her knowing gaze that left him utterly vulnerable, no matter how much he improved. Instead, he faced her again and waited for his fate.

The unwelcome voice in his mind sneered.  **Watching and waiting, Alyn Velx, that is what you do, that is all you should do. Why risk anything?**

And wasn't that one of the reasons no one had ever shown a reasonable amount of interest for his person beyond their own gain?

_No one pines for the listener._

He was for once glad fear and caution were sharpening his senses. They distracted him from the  _other_  feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, from the heat that wanted to be tamed.

"Despite your qualities, Lord Velx, you were always rather sentimental." He detested the way Elara was staring at him, in a mixture of thinly veiled disgust and anticipation, degrading him to a mere thing. She was no different than the courtiers in that aspect. Except he was not stared in such a way openly for weeks, he's been making progress. And surely she would hear of his efforts and endeavors soon. "Your heart was always soft and weak. And you tried to imprint your weaknesses on those closest to you." The way she spoke of it gave the impression that she believed compassion and love were contagious illnesses one must avoid, so much alike to how her son must regard it too. Another extension of their strange bond. He did his best to avoid Maven's gaze set on the sight.

There was no denying the obvious connotation that underlined her words. There was no denying they had a similar discussion before, the very day before she had disposed of him, discarding him into the outlandish hell of imprisonment. He remembered it like it had been yesterday. He would never forget it as long as he lived, it existed in the background of every choice, an absolute motivator to never return there again. He would rather be called Lord Velx than Torturer Velx. Any word on his tongue was burning anger and vile disgust. He bided his time and just listened, trying to shield his thoughts and feelings from her potent, honed ability.

"I am aware you asked an awful amount of questions about the lightning girl."

He recognized that she did not call Mare Barrow the  _little_  lightning girl anymore, no, she was a very legitimate threat now, no matter what falsehoods Maven spread in his calculated speeches or his father before him. They couldn't pretend anymore to not notice the activities of the Scarlet Guard, it has escalated into more than a ragtag team of revolutionists, more than mutters exchanged between weary servants with little hope and even fewer resources and influence. It was becoming painfully obvious.

He felt a shiver creeping up his spine and back, but he maintained his straight posture despite it all. "Merely curiosity, my queen," he tried to lie, but he knew she saw right into the hollow emptiness of his hurt.

"And that curiosity," she asked more than inquisitively, prying with dubious intentions. She had already settled into an answer long before she had chosen to confront him here. "Did it make you reckless again? I am sure you encouraged this foolish weakness that came in the form of the letters."  _Oh, Maven._

Letters? Besides the ones he received from Gliacon at the front or social calls from Lady Provos, he could not conjure to mind any letters that would concern her in such a way.

He quickly hid the confusion and bewilderment on his face when he casted a small glance sideways, over to where the king stood, the very semblance of indifference, or at least attempting to be.

He knew nothing of such letters that she could be referring to. He knew nothing at all. But with the way she tried to blame him for his impudence and the way Maven did not seem pleased about the prospect of him knowing anything about it, Alyn could sense something. Letters. Corpses left, warnings, the map with all the dots connected to where the king was mysteriously traveling to, an explanation for his stops.

He was getting closer to the truth. Bits and parts gone with the wind, buried underground and better forgotten.

Perhaps it was better for him not to know, to remain ignorant in the large scheme of things. Maven certainly seemed to think so.

If she didn't approve of something Maven had done, it could be Alyn's way back, his way closer.

Hope was flaring through his veins, alive and flourishing.

"I assure you, my sentimental nature did not mean to do any harm." He tried to dance around, thinking of his lessons with Lady Iral and all the other ladies and lords, sorting through his mind in pure desperation.

It didn't work out quite the way he had hoped for.

"Interesting," Her voice did not sound interested at all, rather monotone now. A trap, of course, set up to mollify him into letting his guards down, only to prey on him at his most vulnerable.

"You have not the slightest clue of what I am talking about. And here I thought the report I received was exaggerated." Now, she seems rather entertained, eyes drawn to her own son as if exchanging a very humorous joke against him.

"I am very sorry to disappoint you." He replied rather curtly, glancing over to Maven one last time. One last try, one last attempt, one last hope. His time was so precious. He had not the time to waste it. It was up to Maven to place his hand against Alyn's own, to allow some part of their frayed bonds of trust to be mended, to talk again, not out of necessity but of want.


	15. The ghosts I've summoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very unsatisfied with the chapter and reworded/added some things. I apologize for the inconvenience, I am working on the next portion of the story now that this is done.

_I am alive._

He could barely believe it as he stepped out of the room, leaving the familiar aching presences behind.

_Alive and free. Or as free as one as myself can be, in a place like this._

His breath was shallow. He forced himself to stand still for a moment, to calm the uneasiness and fear inside him. His palms were warm and wet of sweat as he adjusted his collar, smoothing over it in an attempt to keep the facade up once more.

He had to understand. If he couldn't understand, how was he supposed to live? What was he supposed to do?

The boy inside him had never wanted anything but fix the mess he had assisted in creating. He looked at his hands, wondering what other people saw. Small digits and pale skin. A hand that had reached out endless times. In desperate attempts to help. Or to be helped.

A begging hand. A searching hand. A hand that had gripped others. That had hurt and shoved.

Doubt settled in his soiled heart. It strengthened his paranoia and his suspensions. His fear and his worry. The little flame, the small light that was his hope, it flickered dangerously. But he couldn't retreat any more.

His time was running out. He had to make a move. Or he would drown in the tide.

The way back to his room was silent steps and hands tightly held at his side. He tried to remain inside the shell of the contained Lord. No one could take that from him. Not anymore. He was a walking lie, a fool. A ghost made out of sorrow and fog.

His body knew the respective moves, the bows and the way one had to walk by now. He was mechanical and precise on the outside, on the inside he was as much anxious as he was concentrated. Pretending was an art. He hadn't mastered it yet but he became gradually better. It was strange to acknowledge it. To see the way he changed. He was holding to parts of himself so tightly, not willing to loose. Still he knew. He was not the boy that had waited on the balcony anymore, not the one guarding and he was as far from his tattered self as one could be.

He was a an illustrated pretence, a mind reveling in fire. There was no vacancy or comfort in that. The ghost of Alyne Velx breathed still, but he could have stopped all the same. Carried by the undertow, struggling not to drown. This was surviving. Not living.

_How we lose ourselves from the cradle to the grave._

His mind was brittle and he clawed at everything to hold himself upright.

His body denied to corporate with his mind. He sat on his table until the caged thoughts in his head were screaming at him. Accusing him. Mocking him.

This time the water splashed in his face couldn't wash the shame away. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried to find himself. Drops of water had rained down on the fabric of his coat. For a moment, form the illusion of a second, he saw blood on his coat. Sprinkled red and silver, dancing in the small light illuminating the dark room, through closed blanks. Blood belonging to the cold eyed man, dripping from the needle stuck in his throat. A gushing fountain, his eyes dying. How he had loved needles.

The blood was Zella's. For he had been unable to protect her. A little girl.

The blood was his uncle's. Because he had dared to disagree. Tried to fight for a little boy sold like an exotic pet.

The blood was Myra's. Her head smashed open on the hard stone. Traces of her existence washed away.

The blood was Vael and Velanna Gliacon's.

The blood was that of a young prince, crippled and twisted beyond recognition.

Blood that belonged to the nameless faces in prison and on the battlefield.

He stared . Frozen. Then it was over. His head had played another trick. Summoned another reminder.

All he saw again was terror in green eyes, freckled with soft amber.

All he saw was a hopeless fool, a creature of comforts. He saw the boy that had prayed at night in a cell until his kindness withered and his shell hardened, only for sorrow to bloom underneath.

He saw the young man that clung to love, a love unruling and self-motivated. It was selfish.

His mind had leeched onto Maven's soul for so long he wasn't sure sometimes where his feelings began and the others ended.

It was a tar black swamp. And he remembered Elara's hand, the handkerchief smeared with his blood.

_You'll soon destroy yourself, my little monster._

He couldn't give up. There was no denying it.

A fool cannot suddenly cease his foolishness.

Not when it is his only reason for life.

* * *

His body was nervous, and it displayed that by turning his intestines twirling and twisting. He drank the day away, because he couldn't forget.

It made the thoughts retreat. But it didn't tame the feeling creeping up his spine.

The madness came slowly, not like the rush his anxiety made him feel. It was not a high wave throwing him around and suffocating him. No , no, the madness was much more sublte, much more clever in the way it came closer. The madness was an itch that made him scratch his arms bloody and raw.

The madness deceived one's eye, tapping one's shoulder and hid as soon as he turned.A trembling mess, seeing ghosts in shadows.

The alcohol burned inside his empty stomach. His breakfast was still standing untouched on his table.

He wasn't hungry.

He still took the egg and cracked it open. It reminded him morbidly of all the minds he had invaded.

Inside the egg, a bloody pulp spread. No yolk. But something not allowed to grow. To fully live. Not even born. The half grown foetus of a chicken, grotesque and turned.

His hands retreated fast. He stared at it , at the twisted limps, the dead and destroyed thing. It lay on his table.

He stared.

Then he turned away, not able to move, and vomited. Spit and bile was the only thing that crawled up his throat. He choked. A thin black veil lay over his eyes, and he blinked , breathing hard.

It burned inside his nose. Something dead. Mixed with the bitter smell of the vomit.

This was no coincidence. This was a small reminder. A favour and a promise. Like the smile on her face had been.

He couldn't stand to be in the room any longer. Half stumbling he slouched over the floor, throwing the door shut, sinking on the cold tiles of his bathroom. There was a new horror blooming, filling a space in the cabinet of curiosities that held his fears.

He stayed until he heard someone enter the room. Some poor servant tasked to take out the dishes. Now also tasked with removing the mess he had made.

He waited in silence, awful long. Seconds were like quicksand, slowly going by. After a while he got up, opening the door to find a girl cleaning up the table. The vomit was gone, and the smell was overcloaked by something that smelled of flowers.

He shivered slightly at the memories accompanying the heavy sweet smell.

"You took care of the chicken?" he asked, sounding harder than he had wanted to express his disgust.

The girl flinched a little. She had clearly thought he'd just ignore her, leave her be. He never bothered any servants. Alyn had dove into their minds , when he had still worn a mask, and he didn't wish them any harm.

"The chicken, my Lord?" she asked, not daring to look at his face. "I sincerely apologize, I have no clue what you mean."

"The egg." Alyn answered, staring at the frail cup, filled with liquid , in her hand. "That bloody cadaver."

"There was no chicken." She said, quietly and regretting it, waiting for him to strike.

He was too perplexed.

Another trick of his mind, then?

What was real?

Was he going insane?

With a deep breath Alyn Velx turned away.

* * *

There was little to do.

One thing was blatantly clear. He had to seek someone that would be able to share knowledge.

And who had he danced with, talked with, laughed with this last weeks?

Who was as prone as a fighter, as smooth with her talk and seemingly blooming innocence?

Quiet one's were the most dangerous. They didn't need loud words. They watched and they acted, waiting for the right moment. Silence was a foreboding sign of demise.

The silence now was waiting, wanting, stretching fingers and gripping his heart, holding him tightly.

He was very much aware of the little twitch in his hand when he gripped the glass and drank. Sonya's eyes took it in, from his shaking fingers to the meticulous bound tie and brilliant jacket he wore. Her eyes were everywhere, creeping below and above. She saw the sweat on his neck and one strand of hair falling into his eyes as he leaned back.

 _Exposing my weaknesses_ , he thought,  _is that to your liking, my lady? I sure hope so. I need you in the highest mood. Consider yourself superior. It will make things easier._

He watched her just as closely. There wasn't enough to find. She looked as blooming and beautiful as ever. He studied her sparking eyes, betraying her act. They both knew each others bluffs by now.

His admiration was only half fake. It resolved around very true respect for her instincts . For the way she could use her weapons and for the way she used her beauty.

In another life he may have even fallen for that beauty. As it was now, it barely fazed him at all. He could see through it.

"You are so awfully quiet today," she finally said, leaning over. Her hand didn't touch him, but it was so close he almost felt her soft skin brush over his. "Are you sick again, my dear Lord Velx? Shall I call for someone to ease your suffering?"

Her choice of wording was as ambiguous as ever. He smiled , looking over to where her hand rested before he gripped it. All this little touches shared, as meaningless to her as the smile on her face.

He didn't make the mistake to trust her any more than he could throw her. And with his weak physique he could not even throw a piece of paper. He was like a swaying blade of grass. If it should ever come to a fight he knew he would lose. Which was why this game, this fight he had to fight with his mind, was even more meaningful. He had to win. He had to know the truth. He had to unravel the secrets woven around him.

"All I need to ease my suffering is right in front of me." He told her, and to his own surprise his voice was almost believable , flirtatious and flattering. He didn't know he possessed that kind of charm. Always curious what their little play brought out in him.

"How very sweet of you." Their fingers were tight holding onto each other, no kindness, but another squeezing show off.

When their hands parted, Alyn took another sip of his drink.

"I admire you, Sonya," he said, looking into her eyes. His mind carefully pushed along her edges, not yet invading, but testing waters. He considered himself in her good graces, but one could not be sure. He had missed signs and symptoms before, had lost himself in talks. And hadn't been able to untie the knots that were right in front of him, mocking. "That is no secret. I am sure it shows."

Even sitting still she was graceful, tilting her head slightly. Quiet and swift and deadly. The perfect creature.

"Ah, but we do love secrets so much, don't we, Alyn?" The way she said his name held a grain of amusement. "The mystery and the question that keeps one off on their feet. And the satisfaction to find the answers one has longed for so long."

He lowered his gaze, not able to hold onto the sparking russet.

"They say the truth sets you free. " she continued. "Silly, don't you think? If anything, truth is as much shackles as lies. Truth cannot protect you. Truth evokes guilt."

Her words were biting right into his heart. Perhaps showing any form of weakness had been a mistake. But now it was too late anyway. Like the dog that had not let go of his arm.

"I know why you asked to meet me." She smiled. She was very satisfied. "You feel the need to shackle yourself."

"And if you do," he inquired, daring to push into her soul, trying to kindle the spark of interest. Her fascination. Enabling willingness. She tilted her head slightly. She noticed. Of course she did. She always had. It made their talks so dangerous. Every push of his energy told her everything about the urgency of his questions." If you know I am in dire need to solve a riddle. What will your answer be?"

She laughed softly. The sound of a trap snapping shut. He withdrew his mind, quickly, but he felt her all too well. There was something sleek and amused. Something she knew and he didn't, and it amused her he had not figured it out yet. "I already gave you the answer to your riddle, sweet Lord Velx."

That threw him off. Confusion settled in. He couldn't hide it on his face judging by her expression.

"You did?" he couldn't stop himself.

"Oh yes. It seems a long time ago. You lost a game to me."

He remembered the evening. He remembered it well. Too much to drink and Elane Haven taking care of him. How they had chased each other across the room with looks and smiles.

His mind was running, his head burning through every little thing he could remember. He knew, if he did not, he would fail.

A game of truth and lies. Her win. A woman in yellow. His brow brushing her hair as he leaned down.

A woman in yellow.

"Lady Gliacon."he said, and now it seemed like the most obvious hint she had ever fed him. "You told me her people were pilots."

Who would know where people went? Who knew better than the one's responsible for transportation?

She only waited, watching cautious and quiet, seemingly enthralled in his train of thought.

"But Lady Gliacon has departed from court for unknown reasons. Days ago." Vanished. Like so many other faces. Lost and dead. Or worse.

As fast as the epiphany had come it died again in his chest.

"True enough. What a shame." She shook her head, and her braid swung around, dark hair shining in the light.

"If I had asked her. " he tried. "What would she have told me?"

"Why would I know?" Sonya asked, innocent again. "And if I did, why would I tell you?"

He was growing impatient, but he couldn't let it show. His hands under the table curled into tight fists. He took a deep breath.

"People have their price, Lady Iral." He finally spoke. His voice sounded more stable and patient than his nervous twitching mind was. "As it is, I can offer little. I have no possessions and little money. All I have is myself."

"Yourself? Oh, dear." She shook her head. "I admit I could be tempted. You are like an exotic little bird. One squeeze around your brightly coloured neck could be your undoing. But you sing so well. Still, "One side of her mouth tugged up. There was a small crack in her facade, through her beauty and the innocent looks. Showing a glimpse of the sharp intellect and cold pretence. But there was something else. She was deadly scared. Considering how Ara Iral Had vanished a while ago, and how he had been just as unable to find any information about that as all the others, he was sure she feared for her safety. Which made her playing the game all more important and intriguing. It was the only thing she was proficient at. She had been groomed to be the woman she was becoming. He could see something of himself in her, something he hadn't thought possible. The fear made her human, mortal, just like him. " This bird sings for someone else. We both know you belong to his Majesty. "

He wanted to dismiss her claim. But she was right, of course. She always was.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"So it seems I have nothing of interest worth the answer." He said, voice low.

"Oh no, I did not say that. Don't fret, Lord Velx. Your delicate face isn't suited for looking so disappointed."

"If she had told me anything. Or if, by some strange cosmic coincidence I heard something, " she then continued. "It may have been about shipments of silent stone. About prisoners both of noble heritage and red blood. It may have even been about his Highness, traveling. And if I per chance, knew men positioned in ranks scattered across the country, I may have heard talk about traps and watch towers, instructions to wait for the appearance of a certain girl. I may have heard about transports and executions, and I may even know where they were brought."

"A quite fortunate cosmic coincidence." He answered.

"I was blessed with extraordinary luck." She smiled. The fear was a cold sweat in the back of her mind. She hid it well. He couldn't stop noticing now that he knew.

 _Your blessing_ , he thought, drinking again.  _I hope it will not be a curse._

And wouldn't he find out?

He could barely stand up on his two feet when she stopped talking. He could see how much she enjoyed it. Every word would cost him dearly. She was not one to forget. And not one to gift such precious knowledge. The price was high. But he didn't care. Because after this. After all the truths and words forming images in his head.

His body moved without him guiding it. In his hollow chest was the dread. It sat there. And it feasted. It filled his veins with ice water. It made his breath shallow.

"You were right," he told her, saying his farewell. "Time is so precious. But I did love spending it with you."

"As do I," she was so close their bodies brushed. "I have learned very much new since our talks."

 _One more step into the other direction. One other decision that led my life_ , he thought.  _And I could have been like her._

He didn't know if he mourned the thought.

"And because of that, " she came closer still, and he felt very much aware of her lithe, soundless movements and the danger hidden behind her beauty. "I have an advice for you."

"How could I deny words from your mouth, Lady Iral?" he smiled, but he felt cold.

Her eyes were sparking lights in a world of fire. Her lip curled up into the dangerous , meaningless smile. As if she was about to comment on the weather. "Run, Alyn Velx. As fast as you can."

Run, yes, that would have been appropriate. He was unimportant enough to run and hide. He could have left Norta. Somewhere in the distance, until one side had finally won and the waves weren't crashing, the water wasn't tugging and threatening to drown him. Watch the destruction in safe distance.

But he already knew the answer. His reasons of remaining lay in front of both of them. The ties that bound him, shackling emotions and guilt.

Even if his family was dead. His house forgotten. His life dependent on the grace of others.

He knew the answer too well. And she did too.

There was fear chasing through his soul at her warnings. But it was damp. It was nothing compared to the other emotions, as he fought for control.

"I wish I could take the advice, my Lady." He smiled, thinking of blue eyes that would be his undoing and end.

"And I knew you would never consider it. Your shackles are not the truth. They are made out of something far more intricate."

His hands were shaking when he closed the door.

He couldn't hold it back anymore. He couldn't stop the anger, the hurt, the confusion.

His steps led him to the desk, to the faces staring at him, the dots that marked traces of blood and death and loss.

The truth , as Sonya Iral had said, did not set him free. The truth made him feel empty. It made him feel ashamed. It shattered his belief. It burned through his veins and chased the hope.

_Is there still a way? There has to be. It cannot end this way. I cannot lose. He will listen, won't he?_

_If I ever meant something..._

Fluttering snow. A coat and hands gripping. Oddly endearing.

With one swift move he pushed the papers off the wood. A fluttering storm of words, raining on the ground.

Dead names. Dead promises.

No family left. Not one member that knew what he was going through, to share the burden and responsibilities.

No one to lean on, to smile to.

Between the dead names a map sailed to the ground, traced with dots and question marks.

And the face of Mare Barrow, drowning in the sea of paper.

His whole body was shaking so hard he couldn't move for a moment, gripping his head, pulling his hair.

He turned away from the mess.

As if that would make the shredded pieces of reality fade away.

His eyes found the blue and green box resting on the nightstand.

With two steps he held it in his hands like a precious jewel, nails scraping over the lid.

**A promise not to bite.**

**A lie and a ruse.**

Tears were stinging sensations in his eyes. Tears he didn't know he still possessed. Not for himself.

If this was what love felt like, why did it hurt? It wasn't a burning sensation in his stomach. No brimming in his bones calling in happiness. It was sharp and stinging, a kick in his back. It was like the make shift knife in prison stabbing him in the gut.

With a smashing sound, the box sailed through the air and shattered on the wall. Breaking into pieces like his frail life.

Memories spilled over the floor. His boot crushed the faces and faded images. He curled together on the ground and cried. He cried like he hadn't cried since he had returned to the palace, trying desperately to shield his vulnerable soul.

Now he couldn't stop. At first he bit his lip and tried to hold the sounds back. Soon enough the sobbing breath filled the room.

As if the earth itself was trying to defeat him, pulling him down and holding him. Shaking cold ground rupturing.

It took some time for the stuttering beat of his heart to calm down, a pulse galloping through his veins, blood rushing, telling him he was alive.

His eyes were still burning, still stinging with water, and he was sure, if someone had saw him now, they would have laughed at him. Pityful Alyn, not able to control himself.

Didn't he know better by now?

He thought of the bloody embryo, the unborn, the threat.

The reminder.

Determination replaced his sorrow, anger washed over the sadness. He stood up. His scrawny limbs, the preyish body of someone still more child than adult, tensed. His muscles clenched, his chest was still heaving unregulated in stuttering breaths.

Where does strength reside?

In your head? Or in your heart?

What does strength mean? How does one prove to be strong?

The voices in his head were disunited as always.

_Gentle, gentle, my boy._

**Crush them. Crush them all. Stick the needle inside them. Make them feel your pain.**

A tattered lord would have been subtle, creeping around, begging to be let inside like the pious dog he had been.

Lord Velx would have waited, hopeful and flattering.

Words honeyed on his tongue.

The other. The torturer. Would have taken what was rightfully his , ripping it out like a fingernail.

Who was he?

* * *

In the end he waited, as he always did, hoping and longing. For something that would never happen.

His body was denying his reign, sometimes. Every muscle seemed to be made out of thin steel, burrowing in his flesh and cutting him. He felt like an old man under the weight of his own head, suppressing the urge to hunch and bend down under the weight of the knowledge. Knowledge he had gathered the last weeks, piercing slowly together. He had thought his mind was his greatest asset as much as it was his worst enemy. But he was painfully slow at grasping hints and understanding. Maybe it was the drinking, the headaches and the mood swings. The panic attacks and draining nervousness shaking him. Making him turn his head and listening in paranoia.

He always kept secrets. He valued and feared them. Other people collected art or friends. Alyn Velx collected guilt like a series of valuable wine bottles.

This secrets were the dread, fuel of his nightmares. He was not priding himself with it. This secrets were lead pulling his bones down. This secrets hushed in whispers, stories about blood and pain, about prisoners.

Myra's words finally had been understood.

Lady Myra the strongarm, almost killing him. So scared and hopelessly lost in her need to make things better, set things right, she was willing to kill for it. And had poisoned her own father in the process before fading into nothingness, blood sprayed over stones. Neck and limbs twisted like a puppet with loose strings.

Because in the end , with all her determination and desperation, Lady Myra had been just scared. But she had given him a last gift. She had made him look deeper. He regretted it, but now it was too late. Either way he was caught in the undertow too much.

That night seemed long, long ago. He remembered the hand holding his well. At that time, Alyn had not yet been broken off and discarded. Something , very small, had found him endearing enough to remember they were friends once. A distant sense of familiarity. A last reminder of something that had never truly existed outside of the bubble that was the room in the palace.

That love had always hurt him. He wanted to be brave, but there was no way his feelings were remotely reciprocated.

And what was the hope in taking guesses?

He was a king.

What did a poor Lord with no home had to give either way?

His father had always thought of Alyn as an abomination. He would have been even more so convinced if he knew he held no interest in women. That he was not right, not perfect. That he would never marry and rebuild the legacy of the lost house.

And the more important thing was another altogether. Alyn knew Maven's mind. He knew the flaring obsessions and he knew the coiling of anger and fear , the impression of arrogance. The deadly grace. He knew it better than he knew himself. Or wanted himself to know.

It held the right amount of guilt and sorrow for Alyn's taste that he felt like he belonged even though he never really had.

He missed feeling it, now, that they did never speak.

It had absurdly been the only stable connection. Something he knew , he could handle to an extent. Something he had hopes in, to hold him upright and functional. Something that fuelled light were the rest had been darkness. Faded teachings and long forgotten lessons had tried to prepare him. Or had they? His uncle had always been firm in his belief about healing. About respect you had to have when you entered someone else's world. Feelings were frail flowers.

He hadn't told him the sorrow of war and the fear for life. He hadn't taught him about the nastiest ways people felt. Especially when they were locked in and would die soon.

He had lost a friend, a long time ago. Now he felt the pitiful leftover slip through his fingers too.

Days continued. From afar nothing was special about any event that occured. He woke up, he felt terrible. He continued to wander along the schedules, smiling and bantering. He talked and joked, he danced with them.

Things had changed. The way of the world, of breathing and living things.

The worst thing was how it weighted on him, and how he had to convince and distract himself whenever Elara Merandus was even remotely in reach to look into his head.

She was, without a doubt, just hoping he became too careless.

He felt like a child again, and he hated nothing more than the mere thought of himself as a weak, helpless child.

The tattered Lord had held the precious right to close himself, to lock his chambers in the dead of night and wait for dreams to come and go. Lord Velx had no such luxury. Talking and smiling, mechanically following steps.

Murky negotiations and hidden rivalry. Lies and truths.

Sonya's presence or the reputation of his relation to the king had held people at bay.

But despite his hopes the king had not even glanced at him a second time since the meeting in the council room. And Sonya was not at his side tonight. He had told himself he was a part of the game now. That he didn't need anyone. But with the new weight on his shoulders he wasn't sure he could stand another moment inside. The alcohol had made him daring. It had made him forget how vulnerable he felt. How much he detested crowds.

"Hand me my glass, my dear, will you?" He heard a voice say and watched the small group of courtiers merely feet away. The woman wore a pale imitation of a dress adorned with steel. Daring but bland regarding the original bearer of such dresses. Wolf grin Samos had steel in her veins as much as she wore it. This woman , not as much. He didn't even remember her name.

The group kept their careful distance from him and his spot on the window.

"Careful, I have seen Lord Velx around. Not that he steals it from you."

A small amused huff was the answer. Alyn took a deep breath.

"At this rate we won't have to wait long and see him stumble over his feet again. He tries his best to conceal it, but he's awful loud when he reaches his low."

They knew he was listening. He had no illusions about that with the glare that fell in his direction as he stood by the window, silent and alone, hands clasped tightly together.

"The poor thing, can you blame him? His majesty hasn't talked to him in public for days. He must feel shunned."

"Such is the way of love, my dear. He has been around longer than any of us would have guessed."

"At least he dresses properly now, the tattered lord." A third voice mocked softly. "But then again, I can see how that's the effort of the Haven girl."

"And don't forget dear Sonya Iral." Now there was a sharp edge. Alyn felt the envy even though he didn't try to find it. "I will never understand what she sees in him. Or why his Majesty chose to favour him."

"He looks pretty. Who wouldn't fall for innocence once in a while?"

"He is far from handsome. He looks sickly. There's nothing pretty about weakness."

Alyn turned his head, stopping himself from worrying the flesh of his cheek with his teeth again. The words should not have hurt as much as they did. There had been a million worse things said behind his back and to his face. He watched his reflection in the window and he knew they were right. He tried hard to conceal his escapades and pain. But the sorrow was shimmering through his pale skin. Cracks in his armor.

"There you are," a voice suddenly said, loud enough for the bystanders to hear, but not full of envy and venom, ripping holes into his skin. "I was worried I had missed you, Lord Velx."

When he turned his head he saw Elane Haven and despite everything he smiled at her, the saddest little movement of lips curling up. She wore black, but not like Alyn, to hide himself from colours to not draw attention. Any person able to see would have looked at Elane. It was a different kind of grace and beauty than it was with Sonya.

He hadn't been close to her for a while, too ashamed and to lost in drunken stupor.

"Apologies." He bowed his head slightly. "I don't feel so well today, Lady Haven." Was the only thing he managed to say, courtly.

"Walk with me then," she offered, eyes shining in the light. " A bit of fresh air will do wonders."

He was reminded of himself before the snow, overwhelmed by traveling and impressions. How she had offered to accompany him.

"It would be my pleasure." He felt a bad taste in his mouth and stopped himself from glaring over to the courtiers. "The air is foul inside tonight."

She was like an anchor, rooting him into reality.

He stared at the railing of the balcony, down into the darkness and the cold. One simple step, one false move. It was deep.

"I am very sorry I didn't have time for you." He whispered , trying hard to keep himself up.

"I didn't think anything of it until I heard about your breakdown."

He cocked his head in confusion, a single brown strand of hair blown into his eye. Despite the wind Elane held her spot without any complains as he took his time. "My breakdown?"

"Word travels fast. " It was a simple fact. "Someone heard you cry and people say you smashed your interior."

"Ah, yes." He felt his eyes burning with exhaustion and tears that he didn't want.

She looked genuinely worried for a split second.

"Think nothing of it." He brushed the concern away. "You know I have bad habits. It will pass."

"Will it this time?" she asked, crossing her slender arms over the curve of her hips.

"If it doesn't, " he decided to say. "Just know you were good to me. And I will never be able to repay you. For saving my life. And for teaching me many things."

* * *

Even in his blissful delusion he knew there was no way Maven would appear on his doorstep.

That would have fitted a fairytale. And a fairytale was as far from his life as a bird was from the sun. No matter how high he would fly. He wouldn't reach it. Ever.

And so, he was the ghost wandering through the hallways again as he had so many times in his life.

Darkness, the old foe, whispered lies and truths , and in the dim light and the silence there was no difference between them.

That was what hurt the most. That there was no certainty until the death. A sword hanging over his head, ready to sewer it from his body or touch his skin gently in a cold kiss of steel.

He was someone fighting with all the personas he had taken, all the roles that had formed him like wet clay. As he appeared out of seemingly nothingness in front of the king, he could have well been fog or glass.

There was little light, like small safe beacons on a beach of darkness, illuminating their figures in the big chambers. Discarded on the desk was a book and hidden somewhere, he knew, was a picture of Mare Barrow.

"Your Majesty," Alyn said hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop them from shaking. "May I have a word with you? It's a personal matter."

"You should not be here, Alyn Velx."Maven injected, looking calmer than he really felt. Alyn knew that by the tiny way he tilted his head and held his arms.

"I distracted the guards." Alyn said, stating the facts than rather answering the context behind them. "Hear me out."

"Leave." Maven said, eyes blue daggers, cutting into his soul.

"I refuse to do so until I have said what I came for." Alyn said, feeling so tired and nauseous he fought hard to stand straight.

"I know about the prison. I know about the dead, the cruelties and the measures." He whispered, a breeze of sorrow swirling through the air. "I know everything now."

There was pain , like a silver lining, a little wound never really healing. A memory so far away it could as well have been a dream.

Alyn took a pondering, slow step, fighting against the turmoil in his own chest. He instantly felt shoved back. There was something so hostile to the boy that had once been his friend he felt it visceral, shredding his heart into tiny pieces.

"You," Maven said. "Know nothing."

" I know your soul, Maven Calore." He tried again, barely able to keep his voice steady. The words were the truth. Or so he believed. In the end, what was strength and life if not belief? He moved again, closer this time. One step from the light into the beach of uncertainty. There was nothing to do. He was sure his face was showing it all. "I've worn it like a skin so many times I can barely remember a time without it. You are a part of me. I care for you, more than-" he stopped himself. The fool inside him had said too much already. "It's not too late. I want to help you. This is my fault too."

"Alyn Velx." Maven said, tasting his name on his tongue, slow and low, but it made Alyn tremble. They were drawn towards each other like magnets.

Alyn looked up into his face, searching for traces. For anything reminding him of a boy he had sat along, in silence, with books and dust surrounding them. Of a boy beating him at chess, of eyes that had been a starry firmament of stars in the nights imprisoned.

The tears were stinging in his eyes again. When he felt the touch of fingers, curling along his jaw, his breath stuttered. Two pale hands held his face as much as they had clawed in his chest to grip his heart.

His pulse was a bird flying free, pounding in his chest and confessing his love for everyone willing to listen.

"We can turn around together. This is wrong. This is not what you are supposed to be. Turn. " he urged. Alyn's own thin finger lay around the hands of his only reason gentle. The skin under his hand was smooth and warm. He had thought about this moment, dreamed even, but he'd never really thought he'd ever be bold or desperate enough. And it was merely desperation and sadness, not a glorious triumph. This was a ghost, a reminder, and it was as bitter and as sweet as the wine he liked to drown his sorrow in. "Turn around. I want to believe there's something left in you that knows I speak truth."

"My loyal Alyn." Maven whispered. Again he thought of Sonya's words _.We both know you belong to His Majesty._

"Bitten by dogs and chased by guilt."

"I would let myself be bitten again if it would change anything." Alyn confessed, tears sliding down his cheeks. He was as weak as the first day they had met.

Mavens lips crushed against Alyns , rendering him speechless. It wasn't a very pleasant thing, not as first, as his mouth was pressed together and stiff.

No one had ever kissed him and it left him dazed, confused.

It wasn't like anything he had ever felt. Nothing in watching had him prepared for this second.

It did not last very long, that kiss.  
When Maven was almost retreating, Alyn decided he could not, never ,let that pass.  
He didn't exactly know what he was supposed to do. The concept of physical affection had always held some estranged distance to him. He knew how to hug someone, to offer comfort. This was not comfort.

He leaned up, on his toes, and his mouth was as gentle as his words or hands had always tried to be.

He had always thought kissing was strange. Now, that his hands brushed along Maven's arms and his heart leaped off his chest. Now that the feeling in his stomach, that deep burning sensation was his and not anyone's elses. He understood.  
Alyn felt a shiver run down his spine the way Maven's finger brushed over his skin.  
His hand moved up into Maven's hair, sinking into the dark curls, and his eyes fluttered shut, not willing to part. Strangely, he was sure enough it would happen soon enough.  
He couldn't say where his body ended anymore, there was warmth and a familiar smell everywhere.

He couldn't breathe when they parted, abruptly. The hands on his face were gripping tighter, with force almost.

"Alyn, my fool. My shadow." Maven whispered, again, but this time something in his voice made Alyn tremble in fear instead of love.

"I told you to let it go. You should have been content with what I gave you." Maven said, very cold, hands clasped tightly around his skin.

Alyn watched him, still and not able to speak as the dark cloud , the maelstrom he had known for so long, swallowed him whole. It left him in the darkness. Hopelessly searching for good.

"But you never listened. I tried to protect you. To show you the use and worth of what I am trying to accomplish. You never truly did. What is a shadow worth if he does not follow? What is your loyalty worth, Alyn Velx?"

The dark tar black soul offered nothing of what he had wanted to find. Not a grain of guilt. Nothing of the sadness he felt , keeping him up at night.

Alyn couldn't feel his body. Numb, like it had crashed in the tide against rocks.

_I tried to show you compassion. And I tried SO hard to appease. There's nothing left I can appease to. Gentle I begged you. It never meant a thing._

"It is worth very little." Maven answered his own question. Then he let go.

Alyn stumbled back, loosing control over his mind, over his limbs, over the prison that was his body and the cage that was Maven Calore's mind.

"And you do know now what happens with the dancers at this court if they loose their worth."

"Yes. I do know, your Majesty." He whispered. "But I can change it . I have to change your way. This is my burden."

Speaking the thought out loud was like a fever dream unfolding.

"Please." He could barely breathe. "Please let us turn back. No more blood on our hands. I promise, I will always, ALWAYS-"

"There is nothing to change. Just you and your pity." Maven stopped him. "Because you are weak. And will never overcome the sentimental nature of your soul."

There were no tears left as the clarity came. This was worth less than nothing. This was a goodbye. A thread and a warning. And it was his end.

There was no turning back.

Not for Maven.

And he didn't care what Alyn wished for.

Alyn Velx fled.

Stumbling back , he ran. He ran from his fears, from his thoughts and he ran to hide. Because after all the hurt and the belief he wore the skin of two cowards. He wore the skin of a liar. And the skin of a fool.

* * *

"Lord Velx." The man in front said.

He remembered the innocent question he had asked last time. If he was under arrest.

"We are here to escort you." The vicious circle repeated.

"For my well being, I imagine." He muttered.

"Come with us now." Was the only answer.

They wanted to escort him.

They were here.

It was over.

"I'm not going back to prison." Alyn whispered.

They'd not send him back. They would not cage him. They would not bring Torturer Velx back.

Torturer Velx, the worst part of his soul, did not know restriction. Torturer Velx did what he had to , to survive.

Torturer Velx was the part of his soul that had laughed at the shackles on his legs, shaking them, using them to carry out his tasks and strangling himself with it.

The Torturer was the part of his ghostly self that made his guilt real and solid, haunting him.

"Don't come any closer." He warned.

Not going back, not going back no no no-

Of course they didn't listen.

His mind reached out and crushed them in a wave of fear distilled from the nightmares that kept him screaming at night. He hadn't known he was able to grip them all at once. It was excruciatingly hard but somehow there was enough determination left to fuel his attack.

If they had been able to move, he knew, he would have been lost.

But they couldn't. They were lost, wrapped in the tendrils of his fears, the fears that had driven his life and filled his void.

If I am a monster, he thought, I can very well show it. Show everyone.

He wondered for a moment what Elara would think, hearing about it. He could imagine her faint amusement.

IS THAT TO YOUR LIKING?

He wanted to scream at the world.

"I'm not going back." He repeated, body shaking. He had lost control over his hands what seemed like an eternity ago.

A gun was pointed blank at his chest. Steel glistening in the light.

Yes, shoot me. Alyn prayed.

The finger quivered over the trigger as the man fought the feeling of dread in his head.

Alyn Velx braced himself for the impact. He wondered if he would be dead before it could hurt. If he aimed right. He would die fast and to an extent even peaceful.

One long shallow breath.

"Do it." He whispered, pushing against the guard pointing the gun with force. "DO IT."

The finger closed around the trigger.

The shot rang loud in the room, a high and painful noise, stinging in his ears.

Something shattered behind him. Disappointment distracted Alyn, and the control faded, leaving him exhausted, desperately trying.

"We're not supposed to damage him." One of the guards hissed to his right.

His physical resistance was weak. He kicked into the nothingness of air as a pair of hands pulled him up.

"I'm not going back." Alyn repeated, voice coarse. "NO!"

A noise left his throat. It wasn't a wail. Not a scream. It was deep rooted desperation, the last peace of his soul leaving his body and howling.

He knew how he looked to others. All his attempts to maintain the facade had washed away. In a stream of tears.

His clothes were crumbled again. His eyes were still burning. His hands were shaking.

He didn't look left or right. He moved onward. He pushed through corridors, boots stomping like the hooves of a frightened horse galloping. The guards had barely caught themselves, but they were professional and flanked him, left and right as they marched forward.

The energy for resistance had left him, faded into nothingness.

Not going back no no no

He knew better.


	16. A lioness's strife

The radio was her signal. It was the same everyday. She lay on her stomach and waited.

At first there was light flickering on in the row.

White and burning in her eyes. She stared right into it , even if it hurt.

Then came the sound of boots.

Clinking over the metal catwalk.

Then the radio.

The static noise and the answer. Short and affirmative.

She lay in waiting like a prowling animal, breathing in deep. In and out.

In those last moments, collecting and finding her strength, she tried to be her truest self.

She was a creature of old tales, howling at the moon and ready to devour their warm quivering hearts.

She was vengeance and she was grace. She was beauty and pain.

She was Zella Velx.

With her hair cut short but clean, and the still big but less ragged clothes, she was a different creature than before. Her body was still lithe, with new muscles coiling under it. She was better fed than she had been when she arrived. Worming into the Captain's head had proven an advantage already. She was disgusted and felt wrong, like she was wearing a pelt, a fur coat dampening her own true self, adapting to the nature of the man. But with time came practice. Those words, those breaths, it helped her stay within herself. And soon enough she not only dared to warp right into Captain Iral but one or two other commanding officers and guards whenever she was close enough.

And she made sure to be close. She made herself valuable again. An asset. Not irreplaceable. She wasn't stupid or naive enough to ever believe that. Not falling into the safety. The comfort of lies.

Caution was necessary, the process of gradually affecting and forming minds was dangerous, not only because one could get lost so easily but because of the simple truth that was held in this place. Corros was dangerous and deadly in itself. People were suspicious and careful.

And then there was also the matter of a Queen able to look into your thoughts.

Zella noticed the little signs. How everyone was more meticulous and more on edge. How cautious and mean people talked . They were vile. Most of the guards didn't have a grain of sympathy for the blue Queen.

She retreated on those days if she was called, keeping her mind to herself most of the time.

It still didn't ease her mind.

The best way to do just that was the walk. Sometimes they still grabbed her. Sometimes she still was shackled. Most times she was just loosely flanked and stared at in open disgust and hate.

The dislike was mutual and she let them know. Her gritted teeth and high held head told them all. The lioness roared in fear and it roared as loud as ever.

The walk moved along the cells in her block. Every time, to her right, was Jacos, old man bend in his cell. Tired but alive.

And then, shortly after, to her left, was Sara Skonos.

She didn't dare to stop or slow down but she casted the longest glance she could muster.

And sometimes, Sara Skonos looked back. Not seeing through her, but really looking.

Eyes that saw Zella. Eyes that didn't judge her and made determination flow in her system.

Eyes that she had promised a way out. She hadn't talked to Skonos since that day the woman had mended her broken ribs. She was glad about it. What would she have said?

Promises were to be kept. She was dead set on that. But a talk about it could have gotten to the wrong ears. And it could have made Zella feel the softness that bloomed inside her all too well.

"Know that little bastard they brought in fresh?" Guard to her right asked, ignoring Zella's presence as they did now most of the times. Just because she was in a better position now didn't mean they particularly liked her. He had a little mole on his chin. "Had to keep him alive and fed last night. Harder than it should be."

"Aye," agreed the woman to her left, strong jaw and braided hair. "Tried to kill himself last time I was on watch. Don't know why we were ordered to keep him alive. He's completely crazy."

"Heard it was the Queen's orders. Said he was valuable."

"What's valuable on that little lunatic? He doesn't even talk. He screams sometimes, but that's about it. Screamers always loose their bite soon enough."

"The hell do I know? Maybe ask her Ladyship here." His hand gave Zella a tiny shove, and she breathed in sharp, barely concealed. "She's the Captain's pet. Heard superiors love our little witch."

"I bet they do." The woman answered, the tiniest angry smile on her face. " They must love how obedient she is, on her knees."

If they thought she was sleeping or pleasing any of them, she let them. It was hurting, but that was just a little sting in her pride. Because if they thought her body was a weapon, they didn't care about her head and the power residing inside it.

Zella remembered she had kissed a boy once. Nothing grand and special. She wasn't in love. Just curious. He had been older than herself, but only slightly.

She remembered his face and the way he had looked at her. She didn't remember his name, even , just a red boy working for Lady Arven. Probably disgraced or dead after that kiss if anyone had found out. Or forever wondering why he had done it, kissing that strange silver girl.

She had never seen him again and she hadn't thought she'd ever remember anything regarding her old life with a certain fondness.

Cellblock D and G were here home now, the pinnacle of pain. A jewel box filled with gems of atrocities and pearls lined up in human misery.

The finest collection.

The one she was inhabiting was filled with silver blood. Loyalists and traitors, endangering plans or having grown too much in influence.

D on the other hand was filled with something special. Something she hadn't thought about for the longest while.

They bled red. But that was not why they were in there. Not alone.

Because despite the colour of their blood they had powers. And one's Zella Velx had never encountered in all her training and the lectures of Lady Arven.

One man had vanished into thin air when she was set upon breaking him.

He was simply gone. If not for her ability to sense his mind and monitor his fears she would have believed he was gone.

He was visible fairly soon again, with guards beating him black and blue.

The high stake of her discovery had evaded her mind. But a talk with Captain Iral had cleared that and made her realize the gravity of the situation all too well.

Though there was no truth in any physical relations the guards tried to add to the rumours and foul words, there was contact. And time spend.

It had taken her an awful lot of work, and sometimes she was sure to be discovered and immediately executed.

After all the time in the Captain's inner world, which was scarce, by the way, filled with petty and shallow water, very careful and unsure, she had slipped in the cracks and made herself needed.

He didn't even realize she gave him the tiniest satisfaction and a little more positive feelings whenever he was close to her. He didn't know he needed her. He has just realized he enjoyed her attention more than was appropriate and that she was not without a certain entertainment. And at a place like this company you enjoyed was so raw.  _He would regret the day he had to get rid of her for sure._

All that was Zella in his mind. She would have preferred to break him into tiny pieces. But that was not anything she could afford right now.

On rare occasions they were alone , just the two of them. All Zella was doing was listening, closely, concentration making her intestines twist uncomfortable.

He had sat across the table, watching her hands folded on it, handcuffs glittering in the dim light.

"I hear you encountered a problem last week." He stated, dark eyes pretending to be cautious when there was in fact something vile brewing. Zella had felt it. He wasn't yet sure how displeased exactly he was . He knew her efficiency and respected it. She was well behaved and exemplary. A model of a prisoner.

"I can allay you,  _my dear captain_ , it was a very minor incident. The situation was always under control."

"Lady Velx," he answered without hesitation, voice sharp. "I was personally chosen to ensure the safety of this facility. So let me decide how minor an incident is."

With small smoothing circles Zella filled the gaps until his pride and anger would not blow up in her face . A problem. Even the calmest and most shallow seeming mind had voids and those tended to grow under the influence.

A person receiving everything that's good without ever needing to look at themselves and think if they deserve their lives? Satisfied hunger without true effort? That was tricky. She knew she couldn't change the pride or the anger, or anything that was making the Captain himself. Not only would it never last without her steady guidance, it would change the person. And not in a good way, it seemed. People needed to grow on their own without interference.

You couldn't force someone to become a better person. The human mind had no cure.

That limitation was frustrating, but she worked with it as best as she could.

"Of course." Was all she huffed and he could take that as an apology or agreement all he wanted.

"You do not seem to understand the gravity of this." His mouth was a thin line. "So let me explain. What you witnessed was a security breach and you should be thankful no one decided to punish or silence you."

Silence her? In a place built of stone and steel? Build for no other purpose but silence?

Kill her, was what he meant. The final silence. Though that seemed debatable regarding the silence Sara Skonos was trapped in.

"Who would I tell but you?" she asked, and forced herself to smile.

A crippled sad excuse. Zella was not a master of smiles and etiquette. Oh had Lady Arven tried. But there had never been the need for her to excel. A glare and a hard face suited her better than girlishly flirtation and flattery. Better than soft smiles.

Especially when she fought. Especially when she broke minds and wandered dark paths.

There was little worth smiling for anyway. The world was without colour, like the white tiles and the bright light mocking her in the darkness of her home.

She still tried now. The best she could.

_A Lady has to smile to charm her admirers._

" I have not the slightest clue what I saw."

"Something that should not exist." He answered. And though that wasn't much, it was enough. It was enough to tell her this special people were dangerous and feared enough, be them old men or little girl even, to lock them up in cells. Because they represented something that could let the powder keg of the fragile balance explode.

If anyone really knew there was red blood that overthrew all values and expectations. If there was no reason to believe your blood was noble and you were better. Wouldn't that be a blow for morale? Wouldn't it shake the foundation of a crumbling kingdom and even the world?

They were still just faces for Zella Velx. She had no personal connection. And she didn't want to. Attaching yourself to someone was hard and in most cases it ended badly. Attaching herself to Sara Skonos had already cost her. But it had also given her strength. And so she took it grateful.

Circling steps, bare feet on metal, the guards guided her through the cellblock. Zella wondered who they were talking about, new faces came and went fast. She rarely bothered to learn names.

Again, attachment of any form was to be avoided.

She didn't even know the names of most of the guards. Those came and went too. Pack of vultures ,the whole lot.

Bickering and waiting, biding their time.

She imagined them on their knees, screaming for mercy and kicking. It helped a little to delve in fantasies like this.

It were the moments her imagination was the most vivid. She felt the heat and the warmth tickling her face when she saw everything go up in flames.

Braid and Mole were in good mood for their standards. They didn't even jab at her anymore, just walking her along the cells filled with misery. Blinking cameras followed her moves. She wondered how many people were watching her at the moment.

It was cold down here. She felt it on her soles of her feet and was glad to have at least somewhat warm clothes.

"Looks like he's still alive. "Mole leaned over, still blissfully ignoring Zella Velx. " Didn't think he'd make it with that asshole Jayme's on shift."

"Pff, " Braid answered before her radio on her hip made a noise. "you only hate him because he's going to be promoted and you're stuck."

Her eyes wandered over in an instant.

His hands were stained black. Knuckles bruised. His lip was split. Eyes red rimmed. There was no mistake he was the boy from the broadcast. There was no glory and no joy in her soul as she regarded him.

She had remembered his eyes a long time. She had remembered the little boy, the big brother. The resistance and fear. The way he pounded on his chamber, at night, because the fear wouldn't leave his dreams alone. She remembered him sneaking out, teaching her tricks or running along the yard, along a wall made of crumbling bricks and ivy.

That young man was nothing like the memories. As it always was, memories and fondness deceived one's mind. She was utterly disappointed in herself to be fooled by the past.

It wasn't that he was ragged or hurt. People in this place were both most of the time. It wasn't the silence or the loss of his freedom. It was the way he sat curled up in the corner.

He was an empty shell, like so many behind those bars.

In contrast to Skonos his eyes did not see her. He was living in a world far away. Somewhere out of reach. Where no one and nothing could hurt him.

It was the look of a broken will. A look she knew too well. A look she had inflicted on others. On Sasha. On other men and women.

Taking another step, she stumbled, as hard and convincing as she could fake.

Her naked feet scraped over the floor and with a metallic sound her body crashed into the floor.

She had hoped her guards were content in watching her. She had been right. They were glad she rolled over it , seemingly in discomfort.

Her eyes watched the figure in the cell intently.

There was only a faint interest in his surroundings. Green eyes freckled in the colour of earth looked over dull.

 _Look at me_ , she thought, slowly scrambling to her feet, making a show out of it.

_Look at me, brother._

"Are you done now?" the mole asked.

Braid chuckled without any amusement.

Realization settled in his face. She kept her stare hard and her face neutral. People knew or would know their relation soon enough.

Their looks alone gave it away.

Her brother stared at her and a stifled, hoarse sound left his throat before he buried his face in his hands, shaking.

_What has life done to you?_

He had been a kind child. Easily impressed and scared, but so kind. The vultures had eaten him after the hunt for his soul was completed, it seemed. He was a rotting carcass. That was all that was left.

Her anger was flaring through her veins with fiery might.

If she was a lioness, he was a cub. He was hers to reclaim and to protect and hide from the world.

_One more face to draw inside my book. One more name to whisper and promise freedom. And revenge. Won't that be the sweetest?_

She tried to burn his face into her soul, swearing a holy oath. She would revive the carcass of his self. She would not loose him again.

And they would escape.


	17. A broken man and his deeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> changed and added parts of the last chapter with Alyn. It is updated. Just so you do not get confused or think you remember things wrong.

There was no one in his head but him behind the silent stone, draining his powers and rendering him numb. It wasn't unlike being drugged , locked in the chamber of his childhood. Or the palace.

Alone in his head.

He had never been able to stand it. Now, without being able to hold onto anything filling the hollow in his chest, nothing to swallow the pain. Nothing to evade himself. He lost his mind.

He had already been close. But now he could feel the seams wearing thin and the fragile balance had broken the moment the guards had arrested him.

It was as if someone had pried every scream and every memory of his imprisonment out of his head with a hot wire only to place it around him. His worst nightmares had come alive, and this time they wouldn't leave.

He couldn't move.

Every noise, a step echoing down the hallway, a static noise from a mobile transmitter, an unrecognizable scream down the row, made him shiver.

He couldn't breathe. Desperately fighting for air, he couldn't move.

He tried to. He would suffocate. His body was shutting him off, a trembling unrecognizable mess.

Heart pounding in his chest, he lay on the ground, letting the rush bury him. His heart was beating so loud, so hard, it would burst out of his chest any moment. The heavy fog was clouding his eyes, and he couldn't stop the fear.

It was different from the other attacks. He couldn't sit back up and tell himself it wasn't real. There was no escape from the cell.

His cell was big enough for him to turn around, smaller than even the smallest chamber he had spent in. It was smaller than his old prison cell. there was only naked stone throwing back the sound of his breath. Mocking him.

That is what you get, tattered Lord, thinking you can stride around the court, thinking you can play games with people who had never done anything but. Helping, weren't you? Selfish little boy. You said you didn't need protection? Now see where you are without it.

No escape. It was real.

He couldn't control the spasms wreaking havoc on his muscles, making him flail and twitch. His legs were made of lead, heavy with every little move.

His eyes burned with the little tears he had left.

This time, he knew, there wouldn't be anyone to listen to him. No one would groom him. He was one of many faces. He couldn't ask. He couldn't negotiate.

Oh no, this was real. It was real and he wouldn't escape. He would die. He would rot in this place. He would listen to the screams.

Breaking down again, the anxiety suffocated any sound he would have made.

The smart thing would have been to keep it to himself, the knowledge and the words.

The right thing would have been to keep his mouth shut.

But no, he had to sweep every rational choice of the table. He couldn't stop the feelings overtaking him. Rationality had never been Alyn Velx strong suit when it came to Maven.

The fool had proven his nature. And how sentimental that one was. Maven had been right.

Things could have gone vastly different if only his heart had been silent. If he had bided his time, watching and waiting. Instead he had spoken again. He had revealed himself and he had lost.

He wagered Elara had been on his tail for a while. She had watched him through a thousand eyes even if she wasn't physically present.

She sure had disliked the reports about his flattering and visits at the court, his new looks and the attempt to win allies.

She had always kept him under lock and key. As a child locked in a room. Telling the world he was too sick and his family too poor. Being the good samaritan and good graced queen and taking him under her wing, treating him like her own.

Like her very own. The thought almost made him laugh.

He remembered her way to claw into his soul, stealing the last innocence of his childhood. Creating an old tired man's soul living inside a child's body.

And when he had defied her, it had been prison until he had come back.

Sometimes he wondered if she had forgotten about him in that cell. If he had stayed there until the day he died if he had not taken steps on action.

He had told himself he did not fear her anymore. In truth she had always been too big to defeat. She was his first and last enemy, burned in his soul and engraved in his head. The mother he had never had but always wondered about.

He had thought himself safe at her return. Had thought that now , when he didn't knew anything about her questions and answers, there was no immediate danger. She had not removed him, had she?

But then he realised Elara had just waited. Because she had known he would make a mistake, eventually.

You will soon destroy yourself, she had said. And she had been right. Down, spiraling into the need to drown himself and the nightmares, down and away from the boy he had loved and the king he couldn't stand.

And his mistake had been massive. It had been stupid. It had been impulsive and emotional.

But then again, she had held leverage before. In all honesty, she could have even just accused him of treasons. Or just made him disappear again in the middle of the night.

She had the better cards. She had the experience. She was ruthless enough to calculate.

So why had he ever hoped not to fear her? Or to defy her?

Now, with no one in his head but himself, he saw it all too clear. He saw himself. The broken and crippled soul, the guilt that made him ruin his frail health and body, pushing him away from everything he had ever wanted to be. He had tried to play the game. And he had lost it. He knew with time and patience he could have been a good player. But he had lost his cool, and the heart that commanded his steps , the feelings he couldn't temper, they had made him fall from grace.

It was his own fault as much as it was anyone else's.

Did Maven endorse the thought of his mother putting him back in his collar? He had known. Alyn was sure. And he hadn't said he anything. Hadn't stopped anything.

A passing fancy, a toy , broken, tossed aside.

Did he even care?

Had he ever?

Some part of Alyn Velx soul wanted to believe he had. He thought of all the years, perched on a table, fingers hovering over a chessboard or just two silent figures, sitting in the silence of avid minds devouring words.

He thought of the hand he held and the eyes that watched him. And he knew that those eyes had changed over the years. He remembered his disappointment too well when he came back to find what dream he had created gone. Replaced by a foul and cold pretence, maggots eating through a wicked mind.

He had bargained with himself that he would change the way. Undo the damage. Alyn Velx was no good liar. But he lied to himself so very proficient.

There was nothing left to change. The paths were chosen.

The king would walk through fire and blood.

He wouldn't let go until the day everything was ashes and dust and Mare Barrow could not hide any longer.

And Alyn Velx, the ghost, the Lordling and the unwilling shadow would die here.

In a prison he had been dreading.

How curious that despite the pain, the fear and the drenching anxiety and dread, he felt no hatred for Maven.

He despised the actions. He saw the truth now, clearer. He saw how he had chased a memory down the abyss.

Had he actually thought this play would change anything? He had begged and cried and waited for so long. It never had changed anything.

The only thing that he felt when thinking of his words was a cold sting in his chest. And the phantom of a kiss on his lips, fluttering and forsaken.

 _Does father love me?_  He remembered asking himself often as a little boy.

One night he had asked his uncle.

 _Your father is a very difficult man._  Uncle Theron had said, fingers gliding through his beard, grey on brown, hands a little crooked but careful.  _He always wanted nothing but happiness. But when your mother died, he thought happiness couldn't be linked to a person anymore. And so he hunted fame and fortune. We have very little of both left._

_Can I help him? He loves to complain. Is there even anything I can do? Comply to him?_

_You sweet boy, always wanting to help everyone. No one , Alyn, is beyond saving._

Compassion had no place in this world. His heart had controlled his actions and condemned him.

His hands had hit the walls hard, again and again until there was nothing left but bruised knuckles and torn nails, blood crusted on his fingertips, but no scratch on the walls.

if this was a fable, a tale from one of his books, there would have been a trick, a way out. Someone would have saved him and he would have lived happily ever after.

There was no tale but the one of a frozen heart and a burned out soul. And no one would save him. Not even he could save himself.

He drowned in the shakes, the silence, the panic that held him tied down on the ground.

It was so oddly familiar. All of it. It was an orchestra of human misery. He had once conducted this music, lead their bodies and souls, weaving and hurting.

Torturer Velx remembered well.

The shuffling steps of boots on the hard ground, marching cavalcade. Ruttling of metal. Most of all, the sounds of despair. Screams, wails, sobs, and eerie silence. Everyone gave up on begging, wailing and pleading after some time. Accepting death or plotting revenge in their heads. Revelling on the thought of escaping. There was no escape. Never.

There was a small corner in his soul,not more than a crack in the darkness. It held the last rest of good memories. It held his family, it held a game of chess and a jest about juggling. It held a red haired young woman sitting by his bed , guiding him through tiresome etiquette lessons and giving advice.

It held a ray of sunshine warming his face and snowflakes kissing it.

It held a world made of dreams. It was not real. It would never be. He tried to reach in and pull them out, soak himself into them like he had many times the first time he had been in a prison.

For every good memory came two bad. And everything had always been about a broken and crippled guilt, love trying to make up the wrongs. Mending something dark and morbid inside Maven's soul.

And then the voices that always mocked him came back. The memory of the dead. The dreams and fears night used to guard like precious jewels in a dragon's nest.

His mind slipped , seeing things that were not there, not in his cell. Voices that could not be real, and dead eyes taunting him.

I tried to protect you, Maven Calore's voice said. But you were never content with what I gave you.

You are like an exotic little bird. Sonya smiled in his head. One squeeze around your brightly coloured neck could be your undoing. But you sing so well.

His warden and the cold eyed man visited too, old friends.

_Do what people tell you, boy. Maybe you will find it to your liking that I left you a present in your cell._

**Don't ask questions. Demand answers. Live or die. Who gives a shit. Take the needle. Stick to your task.**

The hot wired, distilled nightmares, it all stayed. It wouldn't leave ever again.

You are absolutely crazy, the voice in the back of his head cackled in glee. You are crazy and all alone.

Under normal circumstances the Lordling he had become would have faked confidence and control. Not letting anyone know what was going on behind his face.

Now, with everything he had ever known lost, he didn't care.

He had screamed. He had screamed until his throat was dry and his voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. Senseless things, curses, wordless pain.

He had yelled at the voice in his head to stop and be quiet. He had cursed himself in bright colours. He had apologized to ghosts that didn't care if he was sorry. The dead could not forgive. Not grant the amnesty he so desperately was seeking.

He yelled at the memory of Maven Calore.

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD!" he screamed. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE I IMAGINED! Not like this! I was supposed to HEAL! We could-"

We could have been good. We could have been whole.

We could have been together.

We could have been in love.

His voice was strangled , and he hit the wall again. Silver blood stained it, rolling down his palm in droplets.

No one bothered with his screams.

Now he had lost his voice. He had lost his meaning. He had lost himself, hitting his head against the wall, holding himself , until he curled together on the floor and was nothing but shivering flesh.

What was compassion ever truly worth? What had it gained him? It was a burden . Like the guilt weighting on his shoulders like stones. It was pressing him to the ground.

Kindness was a curse.

Hope was the dying torch of a man trapped underground. When the oxygen got rare it flickered and extinguished. And with the light gone, the darkness swallowed the dying man, buried alive underground.

Resistance was futile.

He consigned , surrendered. He was loosing the will to care.

He didn't think anyone would try to stop him . He had never been good at creating and crafting.

The bars of his cell would decent enough for a noose.

There were steps on the metal walks. Alyn Velx didn't look up. He wasn't sure how one was supposed to do what he had deemed easy. It always felt weird to recognise a soul gone. Vanished feelings and empty vessels. He wondered if anyone would feel him vanish.

**"This world doesn't care if you cry for it." Maven said, hands gripping his crown tightly. Determined. Bitter. "You survive or you don't. And everyone will move on. What do you think happens when you go, Alyn Velx?"**

**"I hope you'd notice." Alyn let out a stiffled small laugh, a breath of air in the darkness, a small puff of fog.**

**" But that would not change a thing."**

Hands pushed and pulled at him before he could end his misery.

A woman's voice, cutting him loose, showing him back.

There was no mercy in the gesture. Just practiced poise. She was just doing as instructed.

He could not even take his own life. He was useless.

He didn't attempt again. He just curled together and waited for the end to come.

One way or another. It was sure to happen.

When Zella Velx appeared in front of the cell, he stared at her. She wasn't as well put together as he would have assumed. His other hallucinations had some grace, pale images of the past. She was wild,with burning eyes. Not the girl from the picture. Her hair wasn't long and flowing but cut sharp and short, curling strands no longer than a pinky. Clothes clearly made for a man of a bigger stature hung lose on her slender frame.

Curious what a lost mind can produce in the dire need of comfort and born in guilt.

A tiny mole danced around her eye when she narrowed them, staring very silent.

He didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh. Of course a ghost was insubstantial. But she seemed so solid. So real.

If there was any ghost he wanted to hold it was hers. He had too little time when she was still alive. He had never seen her grow into the girl from the picture. He didn't know her favourite colour, the way she spoke or moved. He wanted to ask the ghost. But why should it answer?

And even if it did. It was merely a creation of his mind. It would say nothing he didn't know already. It would blame and mock him,weep and cry for all the things he had inflicted.

With the only sound his sore throat could produce he curled together again, hiding his face, hoping to count down like a child, to close the eyes and wait until she disappeared again.

She did not disappear. She didn't vanish.

Instead she moved on. Walking. With bare black feet and flanked by guards.

What if she was real? Could that even be possible?

She was dead, was she not?

Truth and lies were a stream of water. Catching a single drop, it slipped through his fingers. He could not separate them anymore.

He wagered Elara never had been honest one time in her life. So why not twist the truth every time it was to her liking? Maybe she did not have Zella Velx , maybe she had been in her grasp all the time. Who could tell.

It wasn't even the most unexpected thing to realise the Queen had lied. But he remembered the way he had held onto Maven's arm, grief stricken. About the fake condolences and the way he had assured him.

He knew, and he had chosen to play along, chosen to trick him again and again.

He was too tired to feel the shock and pain he had anticipated. Maybe he really did not care anymore. If so, that was a blessing for sure.

His body fell into an exhausted slumber. Seconds or hours passed. It could have been a lifetime as well.

He woke up to his cell being opened, a small crack and a hand.

"Eat." Someone demanded.

There was a bowl almost thrown in his direction. The guards interacted as little as they had to. Perhaps some did not want to see the sick and dying faces and the pain too closely. Maybe they did not care. Cutting yourself from the trouble and guilt was a normal way to cope. He had witnessed it all too often. He had wished he could have cut the strings that held him in his place.

He didn't even look at the bowl.

In a world half made out of dreams and memories, swallowed by fear, it was easy to indulge in senseless fantasies. In what ifs, and in heartbreak.

Alyn Velx was formless, without colour. Shards of his self were scattered everywhere.

When arms got hold of him he was sure they would execute him. Realizing he had lost value. That he wasn't even worth the food. Cold air caressed his face when he was forced along the drained world of muffled pain and oppression.

The room was eerie silent and empty. Screens shimmered in bright grey and white, the eyes of cameras blinking and ever watching. He saw the control panels, blinking red lights. But that wasn't what caught his eye in the end.

It was her. It was always her.

It had been her when he was a child, looming over him. Suffocating him, terrifying him.

He was to weak to withdraw, to flinch or weep. He was too tired to beg or cry. He had been tired for the longest time without giving in completely. She knew he was broken. No need not to play with open cards right now.

He had thought and dreamed about Elara half his life, more often than his family. Now he just stood silent. His knees were so weak they started shaking.

She watched his poorly assembled posture with something akin to entertainment.

Then she sat down in one of the chairs behind her. Slow, as graceful and practiced as ever.

"Tell me what you see", she said, silhouette set sharply against the lights of the screens

He didn't need to look over. He could not answer. His hands curled into shaking fists.

"Suddenly so silent. Alyn, dear boy, speak your mind."

He breathed in slow and shaky. His voice was hoarse, from all the crying and screaming, barely resembling the flattering words and smooth compliments from court. It was a completion to his bruised skin and hollow heart. " I always presume you were aware of my thoughts most of the time."

The way she folded her hands in her lap was very familiar. He watched her long and slender fingers over the dark fabric of her pants. "You were never shy to defy me, my little monster."

How he hated her calling him that. He always had despised it. It had filled his gut with dread because there was the dimmest realization it might hold a grain of truth.

"And it costed me dearly." He whispered.

"Indeed it did. So answer my question. What" she drew the question into the air, with fine elongated movements of her hand and her voice clear and concise. "Do you see?"

"I see people. "He answered. He knew that was not what she wanted to hear. "I see mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. I see husband and wives. But you knew I would say that. Because I am soft and weak, my Queen."

Her eyes bore holes inside his chest, ripping the fragile remains of his soul. Like a knife cutting through silk. "We can agree on that."

His knees gave in on him. He caught himself on the wall, hunched over and bend.

It was not as different from the rest of his life and the thought would have angered him if it hadn't been so true. Ironic, how he always surrendered and lost. And still had tried to believe in the good of people.

Maybe there was no good in anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Received a beautiful image of Alyn in colour! (I suck on colouring so cheers to anyone trying) You can find it at the end of chapter 9!


	18. Carve them hollow

_Carve them hollow._

It sounded almost artistic the way she ordered it.

_Your sister does a decent work. She may be in need of assistance._

Not that he ever saw Zella from more than the distance.

She was a temporary distraction in his self fulfilling prophecy.

Whenever he tried to eat, he could not swallow more than one or two bites before his stomach rebelled. It wasn't the only part of his body protesting.

He sat in his cell, vomiting. Spitting bitter bile. Barely able to stand upright. The loss of sensing other minds through the stone came with the price of feeling the withdrawal symptoms.

Withdrawal from drugs that gave him peace and colored the world in yellow. Withdrawal from the alcohol.

The shaking didn't stop. Hands that weren't under his command. A racing heartbeat that told the world of the fear inside his blood.

The sweating got so bad his shirt was wet. Caught between fever and shivering cold.

The hallucinations didn't stop. In fact, they only got worse.

Voices so loud and clear as if they were standing behind him. Icy fingers of paranoia and mockery.

Where was the border between reality and his delusional state of mind?

Sometimes, when Elara was close, he could feel her digging inside his head. He could sense something through the haze of his nerves tingling and the headaches.

But with his delusional state of mind , how would he know? He wasn't sure if she really ever was in his head, after all, who would want to be in there? And what would it do her good? He had surrendered.

That was the only certainty his cell did hold. That she could not reach him here, inside his cage.

Like a puppet dancing on a string, he stood and walked where he was supposed to. His tasks led him to the Torturer again. This time it was his hands guiding him. He let him.

* * *

The chamber was small. Stale air. Shackles and blood.

"We don't have much time," a voice behind said. When he turned around, too slow and bones aching, he looked into the poorly lit features of his sister's face.

He stared at her in silence for two, three long breaths. A bruise was blooming around her eye, brightest lilac and blue.

"Are..."he dared to whisper. "Are you really here?"

She flinched for the slightest of seconds when he moved forward. She didn't look relieved or happy. She was unrelentless and hard as the stone surrounding him.

"I am."

"I thought you were dead." With horror his shaking hands touched warm skin. Her fingers were smooth , and he thought of the little girl, still a little chubby, grabbing her spoon and pouting. This was a different person. If he had still tears left he may have cried. But his eyes were dried out and void.

Zella still watched . Her face was a mask. But she was warm. She was real. She made no attempt to touch him herself. But he was alright with that. She was solid, not a fantasy,.She was strong, she was grown, she was beautiful. But the most important part; she was ALIVE.

Her eyes were sparks of green in a world without colour.

"Listen closely." she whispered instead. " We will escape from this place."

She said it with determination. But he couldn't feel a thing. Instead he held her hand and felt their fingers intertwine. Her existence was as much comfort as sorrow. She was locked in, just as he was.

"No," he said. "We won't. I can't help you. I am worthless."

For a second he thought she would slap him. Her hand gripped his so hard it hurt.

He looked up , ironically how his little sister was taller than him. He saw the lines on her jaw, the similarities and differences between them. Where his bones were fine structured hers were strong and standing out, and her eyes weren't as big as his. With the hair so short she looked hard and older than she had on the picture. He took a deep breath, inhaling the smell. Her shirt smelled of sweat and blood, copper and salt.

"No one can escape this place." He tried to persuade her again. Surrender and concise to the darkness. After years in captivity, there was nothing left anymore to persuade him otherwise. His embers and fire had gone out. Hunched and bend over, all he did was breathe.

He remembered the prison he had been held in for years, the cell, the guards. It was nothing against this. This was precise and accurate. It was hidden underground and swallowing its inhabitants.

The girl didn't budge a bit in her beliefs. It was almost admirable.

"You are  _wrong._ "

Being wrong seemed to be a crucial part of his existence too. He forced his eyes to hold her gaze.

"There was a girl escaping, I heard people talk about it. I don't know how she did it, but that does not matter. I will get us out."

"I can't help." He repeated, feel tears welling up. His voice was strangled and hoarse, but now he could barely breathe. He mourned her existence in a place like this.

"Alyn-" she whispered.

He looked over at the door, a small crack of light shining through. Boots on the front shuffling and moving.

"I love you." He said . The only gift he had to give to her. The only truth he could offer. "And if I could. I would give you the world."

With that, his hand hit the door hard.

"Remember who you are." She said. Her voice was the most demanding, and strongest voice he ever had heard. He'd always remember. She was a Goddess in flames and hatred, Vengeance herself. A promise and a curse.

He didn't answer her. Instead he waited patiently, like the good son and servant he had always been groomed and drilled to be. He waited until the door opened. He waited until he was dragged along. He didn't look back to his sister.

He tried his best not to, but he started recognizing faces.

There was a woman he had once mocked with Sonya for wearing a yellow dress.

Her daughter was dead and her son had written Alyn Velx letters.

Lady Gliacon didn't survive. Two days after he saw her,the cell was empty. And soon another face took her place.

He was glad he didn't have to tell his friend. How would that letter start?

_Dear Vael,_

_I saw your mother starve. Then she died. I wish I could say she didn't suffer. But I suspect she did suffer a great deal. Like all of us do in this wretched place._

_My most emptiest and selfish condolences._

There was also Ara Iral, Sonya's grandmother, the panther. That one did not disappear. Did not die so easily. There was strength in the way she moved in her cell, with eyes following every move.

_Dear Lady Iral,_

He wrote her a mental letter too. Just because she had looked at him when no one else had. Not with genuine affection, of course, but what did that matter? Genuine affection had cost people around him. He was glad at least Elane hadn't burned herself on him.

_I wish I had run like you told me. Now we will never know who would win our little game._

Some faces took some time to recognise them for what they were. Like a woman with long blonde hair.

The Skonos healer. Had her tongue cut out for defying Elara. He remembered. If that Skonos healer was here, and he was here for meddling in things he couldn't bare to accept, what were the odds? The odds that the man he had known for such a short duration of time; a man that had reminded him of his uncle, a good man, was here too?

He was. Not so far. Alyn thought of his mistrust, of his warning, right before Maven had ensnared him, easily, like he always had.

He didn't dare to cast a glance in Julian's direction. He just moved. Legs so mechanical, they could have been made of the steel of the catwalk.

 _Carve them hollow._  She had said, that mother that was no mother at all. That Queen of his that sat on a throne of corpses with her son. That actress. The mistress that held his leash now. The leash that had once belonged to that son. To the boy he still could not ever stop loving. He had been giving in willingly.

And so he did. He remembered his lectures. About needles and pain. About obedience and rewards. What good teachers he had. Now, with his hands clasped behind his back, a skeleton with burning eyes and a hole in his chest. Now he was what she had always wished for. Now he was her creature. A creature that didn't ask questions and slowly gave into her every wish and need.

Remember who you are, his sister had said. He could not. He could not remember. He could not hold onto it.

It seemed lost.

And an effort that was made in vain, really. Loosing yourself was so much easier than holding together.

Drifting along, following orders. Forgetting that every step was guilt. That every breath was a burden. Every inflicted pain, every face. The world lost meaning to Alyn Velx once again.

The only certainty was death. Sooner than later. He closed his eyes , sitting on the small cold space of his cell. Stained hands and cuts, bruises. He felt them, but they were nothing compared to the echoes of the screams. The images of the days. And in between, his uncle and his father came to visit, holding court over his soul. They weren't really there. He knew that. It was more of a very extrusive, corroded dialogue he had held with himself often enough.

He didn't really see them, unlike the the shadows and silhouettes, the faces. They were in his head. But he imagined them.

He imagined his uncle, beard trimmed neatly, spotted with slight grey. Friendly eyes hidden behind glasses, dressed in simple garments, loose trousers.

And his father, a figure he remembered best for looming over his bed whenever he needed his son, dragging him on his wrist down the stairs. A figure dressed in green, pretending to be more than a beggar. A figure with eyes too sharp to be friendly, clean shaved and hard.

 _Do you want to be a good boy?_ His father asked.

 ** _He always was a good boy_**. Uncle Theron was nothing but defensive.

_Nonsense. He denied and rebelled. He cost us our lives._

**_Don't listen, Alyn, you only tried to help. You followed the aching longing in your heart. Healing, my boy._ **

_Healing? What is healing good for?_ Mock and a hiss from his fathers lips.  _I was never good at manipulating people, despite knowing how they felt,_ his father said, nonchalant, looking at his  _were my first born son. You should have opened us the doors. That is why I gave you away. But you were useless. You are weak. Falling in love with a prince. And not even exploiting that relationship._

**_You are doing no wrong. You are a good person. You tried your best. Wars are won with fear but hearts are won with gentle love._ **

It was nonsense. He knew that. Nothing of what they said was right. It was the pale memory of a family he had lost too young. A portrait stuck in time. A loop, repeating itself again and again merciless.

They weighted his soul, but the scale wouldn't tip in any of their favour. Instead self hatred grew only bigger, like a tumour that feasted on his host. It complimented his lack of self control. It shed light on the ugliest parts of his soul. It soiled the love he had held and the remains of the good.

There was some schedule to control and form the prisoners. From walks to torture to control. And the broadcasts of course.

He stared at the screen, the reflection of Maven Calore, at the stolen crown. The anchor of his life. An anchor that had sunken. He had expected him to have answers. Hadn't dared to hope he would love him. Instead he had feared him like a ghost until the return of his mother. That play had been over there and then and there was nothing but a goodbye kiss. A cold farewell to cut him down.

He had hoped. But there had never been a reason to hope.

_I wore your skin. You were mine and I was yours. Or so I foolishly believed for some time._

Beside him, parted only by the shackles that bound him, his sister stood. He admired her frame, couldn't try to talk to her again for a while.

When no one was paying attention he leaned away, voice a whisper.

"Who am I?"

He had asked himself the question a million times himself.

The answer had never satisfied him.

Other people saw parts and pieces. When he looked in the mirror the parts and pieces had formed the most abstract built, straying so far from everything he had wanted to be.

She didn't look at him either. He caught a glance of her lips.

"You are a Velx."

As if the name held any meaning. Tarnished and burned, lost and discarded. No one remembered. Not even a footnote in history.

Meaningless as himself.

"What does that mean anymore." He consigned.

Her lips quivered before she pressed them together.

"It means you are my brother. It means you are strong. It means there is a million voices living in your heart everyday but you conquered them."

He had always wondered how it would be for someone to understand. To hold burdens of the world, of hearts and heat, of cold and hatred. He had wished for a family to share it. Now, when he was looking for a grain of strength, of something that could be useful, he couldn't find it anymore.

My little monster, the voice in his head said. We both know you destroy yourself.

"I didn't conquer anything . I never could. I am weak. Zella. There's no me left to admonish anymore. "

"Stop the chitchat." Someone hissed, the hilt of a gun hitting him hard in the back.

_Carve them hollow._

Or fear the consequences.

His sister didn't seem to fear anything. She found excuses to have the guards drag him alongside her.

She was smart about it. Whenever Elara didn't have him in her grasp, it was Zella Velx turn.

"You need to be strong, Alyn." She whispered once.

How had he wished to be. He was tired. So tired.

She lost her patience, he could see it. Or perhaps it was just how little time they had truly left.

"The loudest voice," she said. "Is yours. When you are scared, you need to roar. "

He couldn't move. Instead he slumped together. Blue lips and gaunt cheeks. Ribs easy to crack, visible with every shed pound.

Something touched him, inside, burrowing through the darkness and the sorrow. It was a raw feeling, unbroken determination and love. Love that didn't ask. That didn't beg. Love that didn't wait. It was how he had always hoped to be loved.

Was that how other people felt when he looked into them?

He watched her from afar after that. She was younger than him. But if there was a warrior in his family, it was her. And she believed there was something left inside him.

He had thought himself as a healer , a torturer and a weaver. If someone caught the threads and wove them to strings it was her.

She would have made a better impression at court than him. Were people had thought he was weak she would have demonstrated strength and iron will. She would not have fallen so many times.

_This brilliant girl believes in you._

_This girl , your sister, risks punishment to encourage you._

_This girl loves you. With fierce strength._

He felt her determination.

Something touched him, inside, burrowing through the darkness and the sorrow. It was a raw feeling, unbroken determination and love. Love that didn't ask. That didn't beg. Love that didn't wait. It was how he had always hoped to be loved.

Was that how other people felt when he looked into them? When he gave them his reat, his false peace?

Something bloomed in his chest. Something very small. Something that wanted to protect her. The spark fled as soon as his black heart got hold of it.

It was something that wouldn't leave him alone in the dead silence of his cell.

He forced himself to sit and eat, keeping his mouth shut and holding his breath when the nausea started.

The last time he saw her was through the bars of his new home.

He watched her stride by. She didn't look at him. Instead, she looked at someone else. The uniform suggested a much higher decorated position than a simple guard.

"Lady Velx." The man said, and through the haze and the way he held himself, Alyn could sense the hidden urge, the need and something darker, hungry. Zella Velx smiled. The smile was one of a wild creature, sharp fangs hidden behind vicious beauty, untamed. She very much was a younger version of how he imagined his mother, but less gentle and more harsh. Hard and unforgiving.

She was painstakingly admirable in her barely concealed hatred.

"Oh , my dear captain, what a surprise."

Alyn stood straight and silent, a mirror of the guards.

"A word." The Captain said and reached out. Strangely enough, Alyn would not have been more angered when he had shoved her. His grip was firm but not too tight, and certainly as unfriendly like the brute force the guards used.

"Certainly." she agreed. There was a last , short glance before she turned away.

He didn't see his sister again after that. At first, he was sure it was because this labyrinth of a prison was so big.

But he wasn't sure anymore. Not after there was no sign of her on the cameras , small glimpses he gained , talking with the queen. She noticed his glances well enough, his searching looks.

He had been prepared for the mock, for the cold and the hate. The mention of his sister awakened concern and fear, and he was willing to bend for her, pledge for her life. But he knew he had nothing to bargain with. When one was owned, he had learned, not even the life you lived was yours. And pleading didn't evoke the sympathy he would have needed to save her.

"Your sister did very good work." She said, ripping the worry right out of his thoughts. "Too good, one would say. Trying to turn officers in command. It was a decent plan."

Something strange happened. Something he hadn't thought possible anymore.

He grew angry.

It was not the fierce anger his sister had displayed. But he would never be like her.

" Was she executed, your Highness?"

"Not yet." Elara dismissed the accusation, swiping over his meager anger.

He wanted to believe she was lying about it all, because that was all she did, but she made sure he knew the words were true. She wasn't enjoying herself as she watched him writhe in pain. She didn't care enough. He felt his heart breaking for the millionst time , but by all the holy spirits, it hurt just like the first time.

He just stared at her , waiting.

He trembled now.

And then it hit him. That despite the control she had over him. The way he was her accomplice and her creature. Despite the fact that he WAS a monster. And even though he had felt guilty all his life.

He had thought of his guilt as a burden. Inflicting pain and pleasure to others had taught him just how little he was.

But in the same way that it had weighted him down it was a gift. It meant he felt for them. Compassion was a weakness if you gave into it. But it was more. It was more than a bitter turn up. It was more than his wound reopened. It made him human.

It made the difference between a person like Elara and him.

If he could free himself from tribulation. See the things clear. Accept the truth.

His father had wanted him to be a weapon. His uncle had wanted him to be a healer.

He had wanted to be the saviour of Maven's soul.

Who was he?

Now he understood what his sister had wanted to tell him.

_When the voices get too loud, yours should be the loudest. Roar. Roar and fight._

He was all that and nothing. He had to choose his own path. There was no right and left. There was just his own head. And he had to accept his failure. He could not drown himself.

He had family. Family to protect. To love.

His sorrow told him he should have never loved anyone. That it would have made things easier. But would it? Down, deep down, all he had ever wanted was love. And he had tossed her love away like he had been. He should have known how that felt.

He wasn't alone in his head when he made that realization. It was a strangely unfitting moment of clarity.

"I stayed in my own cage of guilt for all this time." He said. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. "No one held me but myself."

"Oh, my monster, " she smiled at him. It wasn't the sort of smile she had usually reserved for him. Not the cockroach. Not the lowlife. It was like she saw him, really saw him, for the first time. "The fool you made out of yourself the day you started believing you could change anything. It was hindering me, sometimes, but so entertaining. Your decay, your guilt, your pain. And the way you love my son. You hate it, and you hate yourself for it, but you can't stop. "

"That may be so. Maybe he will always be a part of me. But maybe there are other parts just as important." He forced his legs up, standing as straight and tall as he could manage under the weight of his shattered remains. " People burn bright. You may never see it. But it is there, and one day it will enkindle you, Elara Merandus. Your dark heart will burn. And then , in your last moments, you will see all the wrong you did, the pain you inflicted. Who will weep when you go?"

"The naivety of the youth. Your morals are tiring me fast these days. But who am I to tell? You only cling to them because otherwise you would have pulled the trigger a second time." Her slender hand waved, small, once. Hands gripped him .

"I hope there will be something left for the maggots to feast." he said her as hands dragged him back. Brusquly and rough, minds full of obdediance and so very, very precised in their need to follow.

An unarticulated growl left his throat when he was forced backwards. "The maggots will FEAST!" he repeated. "I CURSE YOU, ELARA MERANDUS!"

Hands dragged him backwards, through corridors and catwalks, closer to his demise.

That was the moment the first explosion echoed through the intestinal tract of Corros Prison. Screeching and yelling, warning like an alarm.

Alarm that meant one thing. The prison was under attack. Something had found its way in their mid. And he prayed it would wreak havoc.


	19. The feeble flesh protects us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy almost done with Glass Sword. Now onto the epilogue and perhaps on to King's Cage/War Storm.  
> Feedback is appreciated?

She had sensed something wasn't all right when the Captain had asked for a word. He never asked for a word. People in Corros didn't ask. They demanded. Especially the superior officers and command. Perhaps a part of her had hoped in vain that she had overpowered him, warping his mind to her favor. Finally, enough. Finally, ready for the next step.

"Seize her." Captain Irals voice was hard.

"What-" was all she could breathe before Mole and another guard grabbed her arms. Snapping them violently like they hadn't dared in a long time. She cursed their very existence in the brightest colors her mind could produce.

_So much for my escape plans._

_"_ I am guessing we won't talk about it anymore,  _my dear Captain_." Zella smiled, showing sneering teeth and bitter eyes. "I always hated looking at you. You weren't the worst of the bunch of bastards. But every time I had to be inside your mind I wanted to gauge my eyes out."

He wasn't fazed by her hate. Nor did he care for her threats. " I told you, I prefer to keep my mind for myself,  _Lady Velx_. A shame. You held some promise."

There was much she wanted to say and even more, she wished to do. Crawling into his veins one last time. Picking up his fragile soul and smashing it like porcelain dishes.

For a moment they stared at each other. She could feel something inside of him was confused. She had filled his mind for long enough to convince him some of the feelings she had given him were real. Now they were simply gone, just fading echoes, a phantom pain.

She felt dirty thinking about it, disgusted. It was true. She had wanted to gauge her eyes out but it would not have changed anything. Even blind she could have looked into other beings most treasured emotions. Even blind she'd have found the crack in the Captain that had let her in to manipulate him.

There was no time for guilt.

People argue they did what they have to do to survive. And maybe that is true. In the end, we will meet ourselves at the crossroads and decide how dark our path has to turn.

She'd walk through the darkest forest to return and survive. She'd bath in blood to save the faces in her journal. She would have died to see if only one of her foes falls.

In the end, Zella Velx was only fifteen, eaten by vengeance. She knew she would never be a good person. A proper Lady. She would never have a home, a family. She would never sit on a table with someone she loved and eat dinner.

Did she deserve to have that? Perhaps. Perhaps not. That was for wiser people to decide.

The wild heart had kept her alive all those years and she couldn't abandon it. Her wild heart was the reason she still stood straight, head high. If she had a crown on her head, she wouldn't have been more regal. The princess of dirt and debris.

"Your execution is already scheduled." He informed her, mouth twisting the tiniest bit. "In case you hoped for a last goodbye, there will be none. Take her away. Make sure she is secured."

Secured, that meant a cell. She knew that. Secured, that meant shackles. Secured meant locked away from the world. Up until the moment, they'd kill her. She wondered faintly if Sara was still alive. If she'd see her again.

Then her thoughts shifted to her brother and the way he sat hunched, hair falling into his feverish brow.

She had never hated the world more than in this second.

Her guards didn't bring her into the usual block. It wasn't the home of traitors and silver blooded convicted prisoners. Not the cell where she could walk along the gills and see the faces she had become familiar with over time. She lost her home again. How strange. This, she thought, could be my last day. They will not tell me when I die. The uncertainty adds to the horror. And who knows what they want to do with me.

An eternity passed, a breath, her blinking eyes. She sat and she waited. Trying to remind herself who she was. And what she had been.

And then the day came. Or night. She couldn't tell. She hadn't witnessed the small stripe of light that indicated daytime.

Her last farewell came from the Captain himself. Maybe to ensure she knew she had dared to manipulate the wrong man. Perhaps because there was still the emptiness where she had whispered lies and half wormed truths into his heart.

_Lie, break , heal, repeat._

That was the routine set in prison and it had served her as well when she had tried to conquer her fate.

They didn't speak. They just sneered at one another, like wild dogs, showing twisted faces.

Braid, the magnetron woman with the grey hair, stood silent and watched closely.

A radio sprung to action. She could only make out pieces of the distorted voice. "Captain Iral- unexpected- the king-"

The answer was swift and clear. He seemed to forget about her existence. "I am on my way."

"Not watching them do the dirty, are you?" Zella mocked.

She waited for the Captain to say the word that would end her. He had won their cat and mouse game for now. She had to begrudgingly admit that.

"Shoot her and report back immediately." The Captain said, ignoring the presence of a dead girl. Braid, the magnetron woman, followed the wave of his hand, stepping up and moving along. With a sweeping sound, the catwalk appeared and tipped over again. She heard their boots disappear down the hallway.

"You are walking corpses," Zella screamed, looking at the guards, struggling and fighting. Her body was writhing in the grip. But it was a hold as hard and efficient as manacles could ever be.

From the row of cells, blank faces of strangers looked back at her. Most of them didn't even have the gall to show any emotion. Some had still some spine left, reawakened after their walk.

A walk she used to stood silently observing. Waiting like some predator, sniffing out the weakness. Report it and punishing it.

Maybe they were walking corpses as well. But then, so was she.

"Walking corpses! I'm going to-"

Mole twisted her arm and she screamed. It was half pain and surprise and half blind anger.

"We ought to make it fast, little witch," Mole promised with a mocking voice.

Ruined and hurt, burning muscles and tense back, Zella Velx tried to fight the fate that was lying before her. The execution chamber was new to her. She'd never been forced to participate or witness straight and cold-blooded murder. But she had heard rumors about it. Trying to reach out with her mind, she noticed the numb feeling. It pressed against her neck,

Of course, it would be silent stone as well. Would not want to fight a prisoner during their execution.

Spending that last moment powerless and forced to look at the source of your last strength gone. That was another punishment and another disgrace. What a small but clever detail.

The wall was clean, now, but in no time there'd be parts of her brain scattered over it. Her blood would drop down and be washed away. Her body would carelessly be discarded.

"On the wall."

"Make me." She said.

"On. The Wall."

A hand gripped her head, diving into the short brown curls clinging in cold sweat to her neck.

She knew the guard. It was  _him._

The man that had bruised her body, had kicked her on the day they had stripped her of her possessions.

He was not afraid now. But he had a gun, and he wasn't alone.

The next moment her face hit the white wall with force. Zella made a grunting sound in sudden pain.

"Ready your weapon."

The clicking sound of a gun.

_I will die as myself._

Zella had thought her life would flash in front of her eyes. Or that she thought of all the bads she had done. The people she had hurt. Willingly following.

Instead, she took a deep breath and was glad she was Zella, still, despite everything. And that they couldn't take it away from her.

For a moment she imagined how her escape would have worked. Running away with her brother. A brother broken and willingness. A lost soul.

I never wanted the world, you fool, she thought, seeing his face. You would have done. I would have loved you too if you had let me. If we had time.

And where would they have gone? He had clearly been discarded and removed from his position at court. To the Lakelands? No, that would have killed them. And they'd probably never made it.

Montfort? So far, far away, just a dream.

Everything had been just a dream. But a good one. One with potential, at least.

She took her last breath and waited. One word, one last glare, and the weapon, shooting a bullet through her head. Killing her fast and clean. The last word she would hear.

**Fire.**

_Do you just accept death? Fight, you told your brother, but now you wait like a lamb to be slaughtered. You are no lamb, Zella Velx, you are claws and teeth._

_Roar, one last time._

"Hey, " Zella said, turning her head, hands flat on the wall, coiling muscles preparing to jump into action. "coward. Feel stronger than a little girl again?"

She lunged at him, wrestling with his hand, gun pointing to the ceiling. The surprise caught him only off guard a second before he fought back. She was tall, better fed than the others, but even that meant nothing in the face of someone far more experienced and stronger. Coward seized her, pushing her down. He buried her under the weight of his own body, pressing against her. The feeling made her furious. No one touched her without her allowing it. Never.

The second time in a short duration her head hit stone. This time the backside, hard, making her teeth clutter together.

"Feisty," Mole said, barrel pointing at her head, metal burying in her scalp.

Instead of an answer, she snarled and spit. The large drop of bitter vile hit Cowards face.

"You little bitch."

In the next second, the earth shook.

"What was that?"

"Sounded like an explosion," Coward muttered. He was still holding his weapon up and right at Zella's head, finger at the trigger. "And gunfire?"

Mole fiddled on his radio.

"Chamber E to command." He said. "Do you copy?"

No reaction. Just the waves of senseless distorted noises. Dust and little pieces of the ceiling rained down on them.

If anyone would have told Zella Velx Coward would save her life, she would have laughed at them. In some sense, he did just that. He still held her pinned against the ground. And he obviously didn't mind at all how she squirmed in his grip.

In the next second the earth shook a third time and a part of the wall made a rumbling sound. The metal in the wall bent under the pressure. Water sprayed through a crack in a soft mist. Washing over bodies. And then it exploded. The explosion sends them both down. Buried under his body, she had taken little harm. Coward was dead before she took a confused breath. His eyes were wide open, head turned slightly. Pieces of metal had buried inside it, killing him as precise as a bullet would have Zella. She hissed as she stood up, clothes dirty and wet, little scratches bleeding along her brow and on her hands.

Mole was still alive. He breathed raggedly. A sharp-edged piece of the pipe had burrowed into his chest like a worm through an apple.

All he could do was flinch when Zella moved closer.

She grabbed his weapon.

 _Ought to make it quick._  She heard him say.

He wouldn't make it very long. But he would suffer. Was that mercy or cruelty? She couldn't say for sure.

A bullet was wasted on him.

With one big jump, she leaped over his still form, ignoring his wheezing breath.

As she stepped out of the room, she could hear the blaring sound. Chaos.

The gun hoisted at her side, ready to fire at anything that moved, she made her way up.

It was difficult. The foundation was crumbling, halls were exploding. Everyone fought for their selves as much as they fought against each other. In the haze, it was difficult to see who was friend and who was foe. Not that any prisoner would ever feel a close kinship to Zella Velx, Torturer and watchdog.

She left a trail of blood along the way. Whenever she spotted a uniform, she shot. She had never been proficiently trained with a gun. The recoil of the black monstrous weapon send her stammering back. The smoke and the mist made it not only hard to breathe but hard to see. But she sensed them. The curse of a Link, the gift of their blood. Now she needed it dearly to survive.

Her mind flinched under the sheer capacity of souls that yelled and screamed around her as she reached out. It was so very different than before. This was not silence anymore. This was unleashed despair. Anger.

Her ability guided her, through dying breaths and suffering, pain and exhaustion.

Once or twice Zella's mind had to do more than that. When she didn't have any more bullets she had to resort to other matters. Hiding behind pillars and molten steel, gripping the feelings, overtaking, just long enough for them to feel the pain that wasn't theirs. And for her to run.

She ran as fast as she could- she still couldn't escape them all.

There was water spraying, and through the mist metal hissed through the air.

A sharp needle almost hit her, and Zella ducked, rolled around, tried to evade as best as she could. A sharp piece of steel buried in her arm and she growled in pain. In the next moment there was another sound.

When she rolled around one last time she saw the guard. With the might of a nymph guiding the flood of water the Link spread out and seized him, letting him feel the pain and misery of a thousand torutured souls.

They never had showed any physical damage. And she wasn't sure she could kill someone. But now, there was silver blood, running along his nose, bleeding out of his ears. With a sickenening sound the man collapsed on the ground.

He was dead, there was no doubt in the way his face was ashen and still. No feeling radiated from him. Dead as so many.

Over the body stood a girl. She ought to be Zella's age, with limbs as willowy, but skin much darker and hair long, falling over her shoulder.

For a second they stared at each other. She felt a familiar sting of hatred. Something that wanted to fight and bite, kindred to what she harbored in her chest.

Zella studied her own hands, holding the useless gun. She looked at the hands of the other girl, curled into fists. Back to the corpse between them. The familiar uniform. The twisted grimace of pain.

Red, or silver, or whatever those other people were. She didn't care. That girl had done her a service by cleaning the way. And it looked like that guard had a quite painful death too.

"Hm." was all Zella Velx made, caught in some morbid state of nothingness.

How tides can turn, she thought. A meaningless phrase.

The gun was useless anyway. She threw it on the ground, followed by wary eyes that watched her retreat.

Then she chased the glimmer of freedom. And prayed to some unknown entity her brother was alive. Not bleeding. That he was levelheaded enough to run.

Up, up, through the haze of swarming bodies, screaming voices. Through the burning smell of corpses.

Cellblock G was a scorched mess. It looked like a bolt of pure power had struck in it. Dead bodies of guards lay scattered everywhere. The smell was so bad she couldn't breathe.

She had little hope to find her brother or anyone else here, in this chaos. If they were alive, they would run. If they were alive, she'd find them. Outside.

Corros Prison had fallen.

She had lost direction.

The thought scared her for a moment. But it also fueled her legs with the fire she needed to proceed.

* * *

It was a remarkably strange situation. The guards dragged him away, screaming, cursing. Caught between laughing and crying, he had never felt more alive. It held something freeing, but at the same time, the fear and anger were suffocating him.  
For once in his life, they were just his own. Not Maven's. Not anyone's, really. Just the heart in his chest screaming.  
The sirens blared once.  
For a duration of three or four long breaths. Then the sirens died. But the explosions, the gunfire, the fighting. That stayed.  
There was activity, rushing boots and heavy weaponry, swarming around him. So close to her majesty, of course, there would be a lot of bodies to protect her.  
The guards were confused for only a second by the dying siren.  
In the mere second he had, Alyn Velx mind, all the monsters, and men united behind his brow was one, united in anger. For only the tiniest fraction of time, he felt whole and strong.  
It took two hard pushes with his mind, lashing out, sending his guardsmen to their feet, making them topple over in pain.  
Then he ran.  
Running without a general sense of direction was never a smart move.  
But at this time, it was the only move he could make.

The cells were open. Every. Single. One.  
It held hope. Hope that his sister had made her way out. That she was still alive.

He didn't fight. He couldn't. He wouldn't. With everything he had left inside his starved body, he wanted to escape. Half running, half stumbling, all he could think of was his sister.

What once had been blank white walls and grey stone was now stained with water, dirt and blood.

A figure moved over a catwalk, threw a shadow over him like an enourmous crow.

He had never payed too much attention to Ptolemus Samos. Sure enough, it was not the lack of power, position or confidence. He had steel flowing through his veins just as much as his sister. It wasn't for the fact he had always felt like Samos could see through his attempts of swaying crowds and easing minds in the king's favour.

It was because Samos had scared him off, easy in the way he moved and fought. And killed.

 _That one,_ a voice in his head had informed him sometimes, seeing the grey hair and iron face.  _That one knows his place._ The voice sounded suspiciously like his father _. Take that one as an example._

Despite all the flaws, he cared about his sister too, like Alyn did. But he didn't fail to protect her. Alyn couldn't even protect himself.

Perhaps Samos wouldn't have bothered with him. He could have killed Alyn with ease. It had logic he was here and Alyn cursed himself he had never bothered to try and learn things about Corros. Instead he had almost lost his mind. As always, choices evaded him when there were emotions at display.

Alyn looked over, and in the same moment a pair of sharp eyes looked down, finding him half crouching .

None of them could have foreseen what happened next. With a growl and a twist, the world turned upside down.

The lack of gravity surprised them both.

As the pull got stronger, Alyn got hold, barely keeping himself afloat midway.

He didn't know why he did it. He just stretched out his hand and waited for Samos to grip it.  
Perhaps it was the teachings of his uncle, telling him how life was sacred. Maybe it was his upbringing and the drilling fear for respect. Or he did not think at all.  
All he did know and would always remember was the way Samos gripped his hand back and how metal flurried through the air in the next second, securing himself.

The voices in the back of his head mocked and cackled.

_How selfless of you, how good. Not even misery and pain can erase that trait of you, noble foolish creature._

His betrothed is dear to me. I owe his sister my life. That was the things he would say. In truth it was very easy. It wasn't good and selfless.

The next thing Alyn knew Ptolemus Samos was gone, as fast as he had appeared, while Alyn still desperately clutched to the shaking wall, until his arms gave away and he fell.

His fall was followed by a loud and smashing sound.

Through the mist and the smoke he felt something crush him, violently.

He didn't have time to scream. The air was knocked outside his chest.

As he came to rest on the ground, he couldn't see anything. Then he stared up, feeling the weight still burying him.

Blue fingers, stiff limbs. One of his eyes was wide open, and it stared at him.

The pain was shooting through his leg. It was nothing compared to the horror he felt as he stared up. The man was thin but in death, he seemed to weight thrice as much. Alyn breathed heavy. A frantic, helpless sound in the rubble. He tried to lift the weight, to push the man off. The body. The dead body. His galloping heartbeat assured him that he was, in fact, not dead.  
Zella, he told himself. His hazy mind had problems comprehending what had happened. How gravity had snatched him and thrown him around.  
Zella was up there. Somewhere.

If he had possessed a voice, he would have screamed her name. he would have called for her like he had yelled in his cell like he had cursed the Queen.  
He tried to move again, and this time he felt the pain hunting through his body so clear it made him moan.  
First was the rubble, then the metal, the sharp shards of bars and pipes, catwalks and cameras. The essence of a prison. The skeleton. This skeleton was breaking.  
The dead man watched his effort, mocking. A weight making breathing hard.  
With all the strength his bleeding hands had left he pushed.  
Excruciatingly slow the body moved. Like a cut-down tree, it rolled over, to the side.  
I will find you, he thought. I promise I promise. I will not leave you behind.

His chest heaved with heavy breaths when he sat up. Was a leg supposed to twist that way? Pain shot through his nerves when he tried to get up, tried to move it. Torn cloth showed off splinters, dug deep into his skin. Shattered bones and stinging nerves. Dying slowly.  
His voice made a low whining sound, but he didn't hear nor did he care.

**He couldn't die. Not here. Not now. Not after everything that had happened and everything that was still in motion.**

With force, he rolled over on his stomach. One bloody hand after another, palms clawing into the ground, he crawled.  
Like the worm, he had been to others. He crawled, and to an extent, that was a small wonder for itself, to survive.

He couldn't feel his leg now, anymore. Jut a stinging sensation in the distance as his sight blacked for a few seconds. In the next second a hand grabbed him, heaving him upwards. A face he didn't recognize, a soldier in a uniform.

Alyn tried to escape, but with one leg and less strenght, he couldn't. The soldier was little older, twenty at most, smooth skin, sharp eyes. In the dust and the chaos Alyn found it hard to identify the colours of his respective house.

"You want to survive, don't you?" the man asked, with little emotion in his bird like eyes. Keen and cold, like the steel that had danced under the magnetrons feet.

"Do you have orders or are you just  _mercyful_?"Alyn asked, voice hoarse.

"Orders." The man answered. And that was all he said. "You might want to reconsider fighting me in favour of fighting everyone else."

For a second, Alyn pondered. But what choice did he have?

Whoever had ordered that one man to keep him alive , to keep him near, or not let him escape had his reasons. Be they vile or merely born out of necessity. Someone had cared to make sure the crawling and tumbling fool he was would be found.

His mind flew out, stretching over rubble, through walls, searching for sparks of life, emotions displayed.

"I can feel someone on your right." Alyn whispered, clutching desperately to a stranger, barely able to stay conscious. "Prisoner, guard, not sure. He is dying."

"How useful." the man answered. "Left?"

It took the last grain of confidence to redirect his senses. Blocks of suffocating silent stone, half broken cells, it complicated the matter. "Running, fleeing. No danger." he promised.

The soldiers feet dragged them through the burning corpse of the giant prison.

* * *

It was a nice day. The weather was sunny. Fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Scorched and bleeding, people were swarming out of the exit, over the platform. Trying to take any vehicle possible to escape, there were fights and threats, cries. But there was something else too. Through the hopelesness there were people clutching each other, holding hands, standing side by side.

Zella stared in confusion. Then she ran. Yelling.

"ALYN!" she screamed. No reaction. Too much noise. She still couldn't stop, pressing through the bodies. "ALYN!"

The biggest jet was right in front of her. She was practically pushed, sucked in a maelstrom as people attempted to get inside.

Behind her, in the flurry of a second she could see people moving, from under the prison, up, there were shots. The fight had moved over, crawling up like a worm, from under the soil.

_Whatever they came for, they seem to have gotten it._

_Who are THEY?_

Little possibilities. Even underground she had heard of the scarlet guard. But they wouldn't free silver people. Oh no. Maybe some splinter group. Maybe someone else entirely. All that mattered was that they were not killing her. At least not now.

Her confusion only grew. But she couldn't let it show.

Instead she got pushed into the jet. Her head craned, she tried to find any familiar face.

_No, not familiar. You know some of these faces. You were cruel to them. What you look for is a face not judging you. What you are looking for is Sara Skonos and Jacos alongside her, because they aren't separated often. What you look for is your brother._

She fought her way through the bodies, trying to find just that.

Alyn's small form was nowhere to be found.

Instead, a shoulder smashed into her hard. "You're in the way."

Zella didn't hiss when she saw the bloody faces. The man stared back.

Through the haze and the shock it twisted. He recognised her.

"You." Was all he said. It was one word filled with hatred.

She couldn't flee. She couldn't return. But with as much force as possible she leaped to the side,ready to hide. Fighting would have been her preferred method of getting rid of him. But who knew how many of the faces remembered her. How many wanted her dead.

There was a thundering sound, with the shooting so close. And something else too.

When the lightning bolt soared through the air with cackling electricity Zella knew who had attacked the prison.

She flinched. Sitting on the blank ground, the brimming sound of an engine coming to live vibrated through her.

Shaking slightly, tired and exhausted she watched the huddled groups of people. Alone.

He wasn't here. There was no turning back.

Seconds or hours later the jet flew, finally, leaped into the air.

She still kept her head high up. Up until she saw the familiar frame of a blonde woman.

At least Sara Skonos had made it. With short careful steps Zella dared to move forward.

She looked at two tired faces. Sara Skonos looked shaken, up to the core, and beaten Jacos wasn't any better.

"You made it." Zella whispered, too soft and fragile. It wasn't her voice. Couldn't be. "At least you two."

"Zella Velx." Julian said, and he eyed the way she stood alone and lost in front of them.

"I don't know where my brother is." She said to him, because she remembered he had known him for some time.

I lost him again, she thought. The last grasp of home, lost in a breeze on a sunny day. Light so strangely bright and real the world seemed to have been a lie until now.

He didn't try to tell her things would be fine. She was grateful.

Zella curled into a ball close to Sara Skonos, letting her silently notice how she shook, crying for the first time since the day they had taken her from home. SarasS hand touched her back. One silent stroke after the other, until she had no more tears.

It had held meaning in her to keep her sane. Those eyes not judging, and strange mercyful touches of a hand in a place that didn't heal but break.

* * *

Alyn had always thought on the day he saw Elara Merandus die he would be free.

He had thought he'd be relieved or happy.

He had imagined to laugh or cry. When the lightning burned through her body , eviscerating her existence, all he felt was the pain in his leg, faintly and numb. He only felt the tug of his consciousness slipping.

It was unreal. He'd wished her the end. But he couldn't really believe that this was her end.

He watched how the voltage burned her ashen blond hair, scorched her simple uniform. He could smell her, even from the distance. He couldn't look away as it happened. Like he was hypnotized.

 _That was her._ Was all he could think.  _Lightning girl. That has to be. That was her._

Her face stood clear in his memory. The black and white grainy curve of her face, an image half hidden under papers on a desk. A face from the wanted poster.

A name from Maven Calore's lips.

His new leg , as he had dubbed the soldier, backed away, dragging Alyn with him.

Alyn remembered faintly how he had seen Ptolemus Samos again. But then his eyes grew so heavy he couldn't keep them open.

The last image that branded into his eyelids was the enormous back of a jet.

* * *

_If Alyn had been faster, he would have seen her, hovering over the runway into the Blackbird, swallowed by a crowd and lost in the enourmous belly of the jet._

_If Zella had remained close to the execution chamber, turned the other way, she would have witnessed her brothers fall._

_They would have helped each other navigating through the wading fights and burning pyre that was the prison._

_"I was wrong." Alyn would have said, clinging to her frame. "I was wrong, Zelly."_

_Zelly, she would have thought, he had called her that when she was little. Zelly the baby girl. And her big brother , shy and arkward, with clothes too big and a face tense and afraid._

_"That doesn't matter."she would have assured him. "We are together now."_

_And they would have escaped, running away together. Like all stories that ended happily._

_In truth, this story was far from over. And far from happy._


	20. Epilogue : Cold Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following and reading His Shattered Grace. I am reworking the first part , now called ''he Link' right now, and the first 6 chapters are up.
> 
> Biggest compliment and appreciation to my betas. I love you folk.

The barracks were not so different from any place she had lived in. After the horrors of her cell, it was certainly an improvement. Not that Zella Velx would think about resting for a while. But now was not the time to sleep. Especially with so many hostile faces around.  
  
The silver peers surrounding her where tired, and somewhere exhausted because of that. Others were almost aggressive. There was still misery and now that there was no more fighting, there was mourning.  
  
Everyone had lost something. She regretted the tears on the flight. It had been because her body could not take any more. She had to tell that to herself.  
  
There was too much pride in her to let go and cry again. And what would it have changed?  
  
Her brother was either dead or worse.  
  
Maybe he was buried beneath the rubble of the prison, suffocating and bleeding out. Or he had been taken away again, somewhere she couldn't reach.  
  
Fate was a fickle mistress. She didn't want to know what was in store for her now. These people wouldn't just let anyone walk out here. Maybe there would be executions or ransoms. Who knew what they had in store.  
  
Zella Velx sat on the ground, in a corner as far away from any other person as she could, watching them all. Waiting for one to turn on her. Maybe they would murder her if she fell asleep again. This time, Sara Skonos was not there to guard her sleep.  
  
She remembered the accusing glares, the hiss and the almost fight.  
  
They hadn't forgotten what she had done to them. She couldn't blame them.  
  
She had done it to survive. And if anyone would have asked her to do it again, she would take the offer. Anything for another day.  
  
She didn't feel like she belonged to them. Estranged and alone. It was a known state for her.  
  
There had been a camera, someone filming the misery for who knew what little snippet. Zella had ducked away, hiding behind a door and breathing shallow. Like a rabbit hiding from the gleaming eye of a hawk.  
  
Somehow Sara Skonos found her way back to her again. Her hair was not dirty anymore, and there was something soft in her face. It planted a blooming seed inside Zella's heart and made her lighter.  
  
"You're doing a good job healing," Zella whispered. "But they are still afraid. And angry."  
  
Sara's hand reached out, palm offering to come along.  
  
"I am not..." she started. "These people need rest and healing, but I am not good with that."  
  
The hand was still outstretched. It was accompanied by a small nod.  
  
Having someone encouraging a side of herself she didn't know was frightening. But what else was there to do?  
  
And maybe, just maybe, the hostility would fade when she helped people instead of hurting them.  
  
In the worst case, it would not change a thing. But even then she could return to her corner until she was removed.  
  
Zella took a breath before she decided to follow. Gifting peace she didn't have.  
  
She didn't talk. She stood closely in Sara Skonos shadow, straight and shoulders drew back, hands curled to fists.  
  
Her mind worked through the fear, through the hurt. It was different than breaking them. Mending them was not exactly manipulating them. It was like waking something hidden in their chests.  
  
She couldn't let anyone know she was afraid. Not even Skonos. She had to prove her worth. That was always the way. The way to survive. The way to move on. Her whole life was only a girl trying to provide worth.  
  
 _A currency._  
  
She had survived Corros. She had survived Lady Arven's school of wayward girls. She would survive whatever these people and their weapons and cells hold in store.

* * *

  
  
There was no sound. It was eerie quiet. The silence unnerved Vael Gliacon to a point where he turned around to look at shadows.  
  
Eyes watched him very closely as he made his way down the rubbles of the forsaken road, up to the only building in miles.  
  
The man kept his distance. When he saw Vael's glance, he turned and ran. He was fast. A silk? Vael wondered. A shadow? A swift?  
  
He couldn't say for sure. And the figure was too far away to make out any semblance of color that would have helped identify him.  
  
 _Spying, without a doubt. But for who? And why now? This couldn't be a trap._  
  
He swallowed hard, hands resting on his belt, where his pistol used to be. Now he was without a weapon but not unarmed. He'd have to wait for the man to come close. A shiver could freeze the blood in veins, and he intended to fight if someone dared to attack. Of course, he would never have won. But he'd not go without a fight, not after surviving the choke.  
  
Not after seeing Corvium burn and riot.  
  
There were fences and brick walls surrounding the manor. Overgrown with ivy, swallowed by the scarce nature overtaking it. The plants were withering in the cold and unforgiving wind. Cold flowers turning brown, dying.  
  
He couldn't imagine anyone living in this ruin. It must have once been a glorious and pompous building. Now it was little more but a haunted pile of stone and wood.  
  
Unsure where to turn, he stood silent for a moment, waiting for a sign of life in the skeleton of Rainport Manor. There was no light, and Vael looked down, feeling the letter in his pocket. Like a weight pulling him down. But also an anchor rooting him in place.  
  
The gate was rusted through ages of neglect. Once it must have been impressive. Now, it was as crippled as the rest of the manor and land.  
  
"You made it." A voice said behind him, followed by the cluttering sound of wood hitting the crunching sound of gravel.  
  
He remembered a boy, behind a mask. Crying under the burden of so many souls, and with pain flowing through his veins. A lost soul, fumbling and shaking. Trying to find their path.  
  
This figure held little semblance to that boy.  
  
Dressed in black, clothes fitted tightly to the small frame, the figure stood unmoving. Splotches of green were fitted along the coat, like the scales of a lizard.  
  
"Your message was urgent. Or so it seemed." Urgent enough to make his decision easier.  
  
"I feel flattered." The gaunt boy answered unimpressed.  
  
"Do you want to invite me inside?" Vael asked. He had hoped for a moment of peace, some offer of comfort that came from their friendship. Instead, he received distance, and he didn't enjoy the studying look.  
  
"I would prefer to never set foot in this place again." Alyn declined. "In fact, I just came for a farewell."  
  
His right, shaking hand held tightly onto a black cane, sporting the same green scales. The silver maw of a snake sneered at him when he inspected the cane closer, a hilt half hidden under the small white hand clutching it. The other was holding a bouquet. Tulips, he thought, looking at the cup-shaped flowers, white and smooth. They looked stark against the black background, fragile and outlandish in contrast to the withering ivy. He didn't care much about flowers, his mother had taken a slight interest in it once in a while.  
  
White tulips, Vael still knew, because of the flowers he had seen after his sister had died. After his mother had been officially flagged as deceased. White tulips stood for mourning.  
  
But they also spoke of forgiveness, a sentiment not widely spread among their people. Memories were seldom held in the high respects, not when they had not been as important. If history would not recall your name, it would fade into the pages of an ancestry. An anecdote, a footnote.  
  
"Paying my respects," Alyn explained calmly.  
  
"Did your family die in there?"  
  
"My mother died here," he explained, leaning forward and placing the flowers gently on the ground right in front of the gate. For a second he was the thoughtful boy Vael remembered. "And my father died with her, many years ago, though his body was still wandering the earth. A dog died here too, over at that wall, shot in the head."  
  
A dying dog and a living boy. He couldn't make sense of that, but perhaps he didn't have to.  
  
"I heard about your injuries," Vael tried to say. "And everyone saw the broadcast. Mare Barrow on Ceasar's Square. It was the first time I couldn't spot you in the background. You are probably aware of how it is in the capital. Two weeks and no news."  
  
Do I now? Alyn's eyes seemed to ask. His eyes were still bright green, but they weren't soft or mourning. They had the look of death itself again, an empty hollow glare that went right under his skin. There was some confidence behind it, and Vael couldn't stop noticing that even though the circles under his eyes were dark gray, the eyes weren't wavering.  
  
Vael waited for him to answer. He remembered the boy Alyn Velx looking longingly and badly concealed even through his mask after the form of a prince. He wondered how that had gone.  
  
With all the tragedies life was writing not good.  
  
"My leg received utmost care. " He lifted the cane and gently nudged his leg with it. The one he was limping with, Vael noticed. " But thank you for your concern. And I am very aware of my surroundings."  
  
Anytime, he wanted to answer but couldn't bring himself to say the words.  
  
"Your mother is now officially declared dead. " There was no ill meaning or hidden vile feeling behind the words. It was a statement, sober but gentle.  
  
"Yes, she is. " he swallowed hard. "I need to return to fill her place. Else my relatives will bicker and fight until at least one of them is killed or banished and the other has seized my heirloom."  
  
At the thought of treading on court's ground, he felt dread.  
  
"It seems we both can use a friend in this time," Alyn concluded, looking at the lovely flowers.  
  
"I'd be honored by your company, Lord Velx," Vael answered, polite but honest.  
  
For the first time, Alyn smiled. It was almost wistful. "We will see how long you dare to claim that. But for now," the cane hit the ground with force, like a ceremonial scepter. "Let us not waste any time. Graves stay, and dead people lie buried. But we are far from that, are we not?"

* * *

  
  
**_This work will be continued in 'The rule of Court'_ **   
  



End file.
